Home Is Where the Heart Is
by Ayra Sei Ethari
Summary: Kinkmeme prompt: Erik really wishes his family would stop fostering abused mutant kids. One nearly burst his eardrums, and another blew the roof off. Literally. Then his mother brings home little Charles Xavier, who promptly steals Erik's heart.
1. Prologue

**_Home Is Where the Heart Is_**

_Summary:_ Kinkmeme prompt: Erik really wishes his family would stop fostering abused mutant kids. One nearly burst his eardrums, and another blew the roof off. Literally. Then, of course, his mother has to go and bring home little Charles Xavier, who promptly goes and steals Erik's heart.

_Rating:_ K+ (mentions of child abuse)

_Genre:_ family ; hurt/comfort ; friendship ; romance ; angst

_Canon Character(s):_ Charles Xavier/Professor X ; Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto ; Kurt Marko ; Cain Marko/Juggernaut ; Jakob & Edie Lehnsherr

_OC Character(s):_ maybe some random social workers, IDK

_Set During:_ total modern AU, but Erik is about 16 and Charles is 7-8, so . . .

_Notes:_Inspired by this X-Men First Kink Round 8 prompt: Powered or non powered, modern or 60's (although modern would probably be easier). Erik is a teen and has his loving family who are repeat foster parents to abused/neglected kids. Their newest addition? Little Charles Xavier who was neglected by his alcoholic mother and abused by his stepfather/father. As he never met Raven he's never interacted other Children apart from his Step brother who is almost as bad as his father. This means that Charles has poor social skills and is terrified of adults. But he does seem to take a bit of a shine to Erik who would really rather his parents stopped taking in these needy children. However even teenage bad boy Erik can't help but adore this too small child with big blue eyes and curly chocolate locks. I would also like them to reconnect/still know each other as adults with maybe them starting to realize they are more than just friends. But this part isn't essential.

Bonuses:

- The others appear as the other foster children.  
>- Charles being traumatised and not knowing how to react to affection. (Maybe not speaking for many weeks).<br>- Little Charles climbing into Erik's bed when he has a nightmare with Erik pretending to be bothered when really he's thrilled Charles can come to him.

Modern AU, because as OP said it would be easier. It will be powered, but of course since they're kids they don't have full control, and Charles's telepathy is very weak.

I will come right out and say it: I have absolutely _zero_ experience with kids as young as I'm making Charles. So. If he seems abnormally mature, my apologies – I'm blaming it on his telepathy and growing up 'cause of abuse. Also have no experience with abused kids, so I'm going with the prompt's calling for Charles being scared, not knowing how to react to affection, and not really speaking. If you see something that seems off, don't hesitate to let me know.

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><p><strong><em>Prologue<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr _ ~  
>Erik knows that he should be very grateful. He has a nice house, a loving family, and a country that accepts and protects mutants like him. His father is a respected engineer, and his mother a very good teacher. And he's an only child, so all of their love and money and times goes to him. He's not spoiled; he just doesn't quite understand why his classmates always wish to have younger siblings. He's quite happy, he insists, with being an only child, no matter how many times his parents ask him otherwise.<p>

After all, it's not like he can have another sibling, really. Erik's not certain of the details, but he does know that his birth was painful and long and dangerous, and so his parents are not eager to try it again.

Yes, he is indeed very happy as a single child.

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><p>Erik manifests around age eight. He does so quite spectacularly too.<p>

He's at the playground, and it's getting dark, and his mother does want to get home because it's time for dinner, but he wants to stay, just for another couple of minutes, please, he'll be done then, he promises, if they can only stay for a little while longer – but his mother is firm, and marches over and seizes his hands and pulls him away.

Erik reaches out as the gate to the playground swings shut behind him, and he _wants_ to go back to the playground –

And from deep within him, something answers.

His heart speeds up, and his vision goes tinged with grey, and the whole world seems to sing, faintly, of a sense he can't quite describe, and then the gate _shrieks_ and starts to warp, and Erik can feel it calling to him, begging to be used, and he reaches out and _pulls_ and _holds_.

Erik's mother is dragged back a few steps in her shock.

Then, of course, when the gate is pulled half to the ground, Erik's mother shakes him.

Exhausted, Erik sinks to the ground, suddenly tired, feeling extremely dizzy and confused. All around, people are gathering and muttering and pointing, but mainly he's terrified. He doesn't _understand_ – why did the gate bend, who did that, why is the world still murmuring to him, why, why, why –

(Within time, he'll realize that the world will never _stop_ murmuring to him, courtesy of the Earth's magnetic fields, but at age six he doesn't even understand what a magnetic field _is_, so. . .)

"_Liebchen_," his mother says, kneeling on the ground, eyes wide with something he can't quite discern. "_Liebchen_, was that you?"

And Erik . . . cannot answer. He can't lie, he _knows_ deep down that it was him, but he can't understand why or how and what is going on, he doesn't know, and it's confusing and he doesn't understand how to tell her that.

Thankfully, his mother understands.

She gathers him carefully in her arms, murmuring soft, comforting words in German, and tells him, "_Alles is gut, liebchen, alles is gut_." Over and over, until he starts to calm down, starts to believe, starts to relax.

And promptly falls asleep.

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><p>Mutants are not exactly unknown in the United States. After the rather amazing demonstration, courtesy of the mutants that manifested during World War II to fight during the war, countries have begun to acknowledge, reluctantly, that mutants do exist. A few calculated threats and the clamor from the families of mutant children ensures that a bill of rights is passed to include mutants, and now systems are starting to spring up to accommodate mutants. The problem is, of course, that not every mutant is the same.<p>

Erik, for example, looks completely normal. Human. And his mutation is erratic, but not as life-threatening as, say, those who grow wings or hear thoughts. Erik doesn't really need the guidance of his mutation counselor, Mister Sebastian Shaw, but the Department of Children and Families assigns him to Shaw anyways.

The man gives Erik a sickly smile at their first meeting. "Well, hello, little Erik. Nice to meet you."

They don't do much except exchange names and volunteer information on Erik's mutation, but Erik knows that when he enters middle school or high school, and stops going to the special mutant school, they'll have to meet. It's the law that every mutant child is assigned to and is under the guidance of a mutant counselor to help them practice and learn to control their gifts so that they can attend regular mutant-human schools. But that's far, far away for six-year-old Erik, so he doesn't really pay attention.

However, his mother has always liked to help kids.

As they leave the office, they come across social workers leading a little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl dressed head to toe in white away. Mister Shaw starts talking about how humans have abused mutants – carefully, so as not to offend Erik's mother – but Erik's mother doesn't seem to mind.

Actually, she gets the glint of a new project in her eyes.

Erik's mother volunteers a lot. Erik's father says it's because she has a lot of love that she lavishes on Erik, but also wants to spread around and do good with.

This is how Erik meets his first in the line of many, many fostered siblings.

Her name is Emma Frost, and she shows the start of a psionic gift – telepathy or empathy, they're not certain yet – but at the moment, she does have one gift perfectly under control, and it is turning into pure diamond. Erik doesn't like her at _all_, because she sniffs and thinks that she's above Erik even though she's been disinherited in all but name, so one day he finally cracks and punches her after she insults his mother.

And ends up nearly breaking his hand.

Emma doesn't come out of her diamond form for two days after that, sulking, and Erik uses the opportunity to flick bits of metal at her – anything from forks and spoons to nails and pencils – to take out his annoyance, and his mother cannot stop him because he can't actually _hurt_ her, and if he isn't flinging metal at her, she's trying to scratch him and diamond hands are so _sharp_.

Six months of this, and then Emma's father shows up to take her away, all fake smiles.

Erik finds Emma sitting quietly in the spare room that day, in human form for the first time in days, and her face is utterly expressionless. He sits next to her, and they sit in silence for a very long time. It's the most cooperative they've ever been in each other's presence.

"You're stronger than he is," Erik says finally.

Silence.

"Thanks," Emma says.

(Later, Erik will realize that they fought so much because they were so alike, but of course, when they're adults and cross each other's paths again in college, they have much more elegant and damaging ways of fighting than scratching with diamond hands and flinging metal nails.)

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><p>After that, it's a stream of fostering mutant kids. And it's always the abused ones too, ones mistreated because of their mutation or, sometimes, just because.<p>

Like Alex Summers. His parents died in a plane crash. His brother got lost in the system somewhere, because people don't usually take the time to really put much effort into normal kids, much less mutant kids who can blow things up. Usually, they are made to "disappear" and foisted off on whoever asks for them.

Erik is ten by then, and growing stronger all the time, and Alex is very, very young. He's tested as a mutant, but he hasn't manifested.

He's okay. He doesn't say much. Erik learns the valuable skill of realizing when Alex is bored and when Alex is merely pretending to be bored and is actually paying a great deal of attention, and during this time he learns to go slowly so that Alex can learn the basic skills that he never learned before, or even just to teach him little games to keep himself amused with cards and the like.

Then ten months later, Alex gets upset at some girl and blows the roof off.

Literally.

The Department of Mutant Children and Families immediately takes him in and shuffles him off to a special _special_ mutant school, afraid of dealing with someone quite so powerful.

It only makes Erik's mother more determined.

Another kid that comes through is Sean Cassidy, a baby who can wail at painfully loud frequencies. He's not really abandoned or abused, but they're trying to find his grandparents because his parents have vanished, so Erik's family gets him for a while. At first, Erik thinks he's just not used to babies who cry and cry and _cry_ almost every single minute they're awake.

Then Sean lets out an earsplitting wail that shatters all the windows on the first floor.

He isn't taken away immediately, because Erik's mother stalls and drags her feet and kicks up a fuss. Sean isn't _dangerous_, not like Alex was; he's just mildly annoying. Luckily, thanks to the erratic nature of Erik's mutation, most of their silverware and glassware isn't really glass, and so can't be shattered by Sean's screams, and many of the windows have also been reinforced. He's not a difficult baby at all, really.

From him, Erik learns that sometimes little kids just don't answer questions.

Nine months later, the department finally tracks down Sean's grandparents, and the next week, Sean is gone.

* * *

><p>By the time Erik is sixteen, he's had four foster siblings. Some had physical mutations, but most could have passed for human, really. And now he really is growing tired of the whole charade. He understands that many of the children are abused and are in need of the loving home he is so lucky to have, but – really.<p>

He'll be in college soon, since he skipped a year, and he really just does want to have his parents to himself.

When they see off their latest kid, a girl named Angel with the rather nasty ability to spit acid, it's because her wings are starting to come out and she needs medical care, so Erik's mother reluctantly signs her back over to the department and then goes to file more paperwork to try and get another child.

"There is always more than can be done," she insists. "We can still help."

"Why can't you just help _me_?"

Erik's mother scoffs and pats him on the head.

He understands her message. At sixteen, he's passed the major bump of puberty, and his powers grow more slowly now. He's still growing, but it's gradual, not the sudden leap that had him unable to sleep for several days when puberty hit and suddenly he could sense the Earth's magnetic poles and shifting fields no matter what, and he was hyper enough that any additional caffeine made him ready to bounce off walls. Literally, even though more often than not he lost control over the magnetic fields and tumbled down the stairs instead of floating grandly down as he'd thought might happen.

For a long time, though, the paperwork is not turned in.

Erik beings to hope that perhaps he might not get another foster sibling. Maybe this is it. Maybe they are done.

He likes the idea of being special, of course. Of having brothers and sisters with unique talents. Of not being alone in his superhuman abilities. Of being a _mutant_, and being proud to be one when some countries still frown on it.

But sometimes, he likes the idea of being the sole focus for his parents too.

Just when he thinks that he's off the hook, though, his mother comes home, beaming, with Charles Xavier, a tiny seven-year-old telepath with big blue eyes, porcelain pale skin, and soft chocolate locks.

Who promptly proceeds to go and steal Erik's heart.

(Later, Erik will realize that, really, he should have known that he'd be doomed the second he took one look at the child hiding behind his mother's dress and staring at him in part-awe, part-fear and thought, _Poor little kid, must be so scared, what happened to him_, instead of, _Gott, another one?_)

(Later, Erik will look at Charles the adult and realize that Charles still wears that same look on his face when he looks at Erik.)

(And much, much later, Erik will realize that he's been doomed since he was sixteen and Charles was seven.)

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><p>AN: So, what do you think?


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! I'd PM you all individually, but half of you are anonymous, so . . . All my thanks anyways!

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><p><strong><em>Chapter One<em>**

**Three Weeks Later**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>Erik walks in the door, slings his backpack to the ground, throws his coat on the sofa, and nearly slams the door with his power when his mother looks up sharply and shakes her head. He follows her gaze to see Charles curled up on the couch in the living room where Erik normally sits to watch television or do homework, one hand curled by his head, as sweet and innocent in sleep as he is awake.<p>

Erik hasn't traded one single word with the boy once in all of the three weeks he's been here, and the thirty seconds he spends staring wordlessly at Charles's sleeping form has been the longest he's seen the boy in one place at a time. Charles spends most of his time in his room, or hiding under furniture.

There are times when Erik thinks that Shaw's words are overkill, and times when he thinks the man might be right.

This is one of the latter times.

His mother walks over and reaches up to kiss him on the cheek. "We have some things to sort out for Charles," she whispers. "Can you watch over him until we get back? Dinner's on the stove, just warm it up. And do try and _talk_ to the boy, will you?" she asks, seemingly exhausted.

Erik is startled. He's not surprised that Charles avoids him. He's already hit his growth spurt and towers over his own mother – to Charles, he must look like a giant. And Charles is only seven, but Erik's skimmed the reports; he was abused by his stepbrother and stepfather for some time, enough that instincts must have set in to tell him to avoid anyone who is male and tall and intimidating, and Erik unfortunately fits that bill quite well. And if there is one thing that his foster siblings like Emma and Angel and Alex have taught him, it's that by now, with some many years of abuse and bouncing around in the system, any kind of reassurances are wasted. Charles must come to Erik, because Erik knows that if he tried to confront Charles, he'd probably scare the boy out of his wits.

But usually, those same kids are eventually worn down by Erik's mother. She's not threatening, and nice, and is very good at understanding their silent signals. Even Angel only lasted a week before she finally started relaxing and opening up.

"How bad is it?" Erik asks.

His mother sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She has that I've-been-set-back-but-I'm-going-to-keep-going look on her face. "He won't talk to me. He doesn't even make eye contact. And his telepathy is coming and going, poor thing, but I know he's not listening to me when I try to comfort him."

His mother is probably one of the most accepting human of mutations around. If Charles is a telepath and cannot sense that . . .

But Erik remembers when he was Charles's age. And he most certainly did _not_ have full control of mutation back then. He still doesn't. And if Charles has been sensing the ugly thoughts of the world around him, especially of his abusers – well, perhaps his caution is warranted, somewhat.

"So you want me to try?"

His mother smiles. "Erik, telepaths can tell mutants from humans. Perhaps he'll feel safer with you."

"I doubt it," he mutters. Erik suspects that if _he_ was an abused seven-year-old telepath, he definitely wouldn't trust himself either.

His mother shakes her head disapprovingly, as if sensing the avenue his thoughts are travelling. "Erik, you may think you're intimidating, but you're a sweet boy underneath. I'm sure Charles can sense it," she says.

"He won't even _look_ at me."

"He doesn't look at anyone, _liebchen_."

"I'm not a little kid anymore," Erik grumbles, although a part of him crumbles at the use of his mother's favorite nickname for him. He hates being called it in public, for the reason given, but . . . in some ways, he will never stop being his mother's son and he knows it. He's glad for it; his mother is a great person.

His mother knows a victory when she sees it. So she just kisses him on the cheek, grabs her purse and coat, and then sweeps out the door.

Erik looks at door, sighs, and then looks back at Charles. The boy is curled up in that protective fetal position that Erik's seen hundreds of times when his foster siblings were still new to the Lehnsherr family and unsure of what the rules are: legs curled and tucked close to the chest, head pillowed on one arm with the other curled near his face. He's so small that Erik thinks, quite irrationally and suddenly, of a lab rat or a drowned mouse, small and sweet and confused.

(Years later, that nickname will stick no matter how old Charles is – or how long it's been since they've seen each other.)

When Erik comes down the stairs and heads towards the kitchen to start actually eating, Charles is still sleeping, but his brow is furrowed and he's whimpering, just a little bit, in his sleep – and without even thinking properly about it, Erik crouches by the crouch and smoothes a hand down the boy's hair.

_Hush, sleep, safe, quiet, rest, Maus_, he thinks, remembering how Emma had told him how to project. _Sleep, safe, sleep._

It seems to work. A little. Charles at least stops whimpering, although he goes very still under Erik's hand, and it's only the fact that his breathing remains unchanged that indicates that he is still sleeping and not just pretending to sleep.

That is why, only a few minutes later when he's gesturing to stir the sauce for the spaghetti, he nearly overturns the entire pot when he feels a small hand touch his leg, very gently.

When Erik whirls around, startled, Charles shrinks back against the table, as if trying to blend in with the tablecloth, blue eyes as huge as saucers as he stares from Erik to the spoon he is stirring with his powers. But he doesn't run. And although he doesn't look Erik in the eye, he doesn't _run_, which Erik counts as a definite improvement.

_Make yourself smaller. You seem less dangerous then_, Erik remembers from the classes his parents dragged him to about dealing with formerly abused mutant kids.

So he crouches down so that they are closer in eye level, and gestures to bring another spoon from the drawer over, floating it in between them in a silent peace offering. Thankfully, some of the fear seems to leave Charles, and he reaches out tentatively to poke at the spoon, seemingly startled when it remains floating.

"Metal," Erik explains quietly.

Charles's eyes flick to him, one hand still batting at the spoon like an overexcited cat, but he doesn't seem scared.

"I can move metal," Erik continues. "What can you do, _maus_?"

Charles's nose wrinkles, as if he understands and thoroughly disapproves of the nickname, and his jaw works, but he doesn't open his mouth. Instead, a sense of . . . _curiosity-surprise-food_ fills the edges of Erik's mind, as if Charles is caught between his hunger and his interest in the still-floating spoon.

"Empathy, then?"

Erik knows very well what Charles can do, and the boy's already projected to rise to level 5 when he's past puberty. But it's the only common ground they share, really, except for being boys, and he has to start _somewhere_.

Charles shakes his head, a tiny, quick movement, as if scared of giving the right answer.

"Then what?"

Charles doesn't answer, focusing on the spoon again, but this time it's more because he doesn't want to or is too afraid to answer than because he's actually interested. Erik sighs, and gives it up for a lost cause. At least Charles isn't running away screaming.

It's a start.

Out of impulse, he reaches out with his powers and molds the spoon into a shimmering lump of metal, which then coalesces to form a cheerful little Mickey Mouse face, complete with the big ears and large eyes. When Charles's eyes go big and his mouth drops, Erik laughs and levitates the mouse towards the boy, who for once seems too fascinated to be scared of Erik. He reaches out, oh so tentatively, and brushes at the mouse, drawing back as if burned and surprised that it's real and then reaching out again to touch it.

"You can have it," Erik offers quietly. "If you want."

Charles doesn't say anything to that either, but one small fist closes around the mouse head, and a sense of . . . _gratitude_ pulses along Erik's mind.

"You're welcome, _maus_," Erik says, pushing himself to his feet.

Charles stares at Erik, head tilted inquisitively to one side, drawing back as if in fear and hand closed tight around the mouse head as if he's afraid he'll lose it. When Erik frowns, trying to figure out what went wrong, Charles _flinches_, but stands his ground, head hung as if he expects to be yelled at or hit or something.

"What's wrong?"

The boy flinches again, shoulders drawn tight as if to protect him from invisible blows, and fear lashes along Erik's mind.

"Oh – no, no, _maus_, no," Erik breathes, the pieces clicking together when the fear abruptly cuts off and Charles looks more terrified than ever. "You don't have to speak, Charles. It's all right. I don't mind it if you read my mind, or talk this way. I don't, I promise. And – " He cuts himself off before he can continue, can give voice the rage simmering deep in his chest, at the thought of this innocent little child being beaten for nothing less than using the gift he was born with. Charles would probably not be reassured if Erik promised to kill anyone who would try to hurt Charles again. So he settles for, "And my mother and father don't mind either, I swear."

The rage only grows when Charles peeks at him, looking unsure.

"I promise," Erik says solemnly.

He holds perfectly still, clearing his mind of anything except his promise to Charles, when he feels that clumsy poke at the edges of his mind. Charles is clearly trying, as he grips his fingers tightly together and narrows his eyes, but he's had no training, obviously. Yet he seems . . . satisfied, because he relaxes somewhat, and looks up at Erik as though asking for something.

Erik waits.

Moments later, a fuzzy taste of apple juice floods Erik's mouth, and he blinks and then smiles. "Apple juice?"

Charles nods hesitantly.

Erik opens the refrigerator door with his mutation, grinning at Charles's wide-eyed delight, and after he pours the juice, Charles seems content to sit on the floor and drink, still poking at his metal mouse head in between sips, so when dinner is all ready, Erik scoops out two bowls and then plops down on the floor next to him, eating in silence and careful not to make any sudden movements – unless he's using his mutation, that is, which seems to delight Charles to no end no matter how mundane or small the task is.

Later, as Erik is washing the dishes, having already shooed Charles away from trying to wash the dishes himself, Charles tiptoes back in and presses a hand to Erik's leg again.

"What is it, _maus_?"

Charles looks at him, blue eyes considering, and says, very quietly, _Thank you, Erik._

Erik nearly drops the plate. "You're welcome," he manages, finally.

Charles gives him a shy smile and runs away.

When Erik's parents return home, they find Charles curled on the couch batting at the galaxy of floating pens and coins circling his head, and although he doesn't talk or laugh out loud, his eyes shine clear and beautiful with delight, and best of all, when Erik stands up to leave, abruptly and quickly and looming way too tall over the boy's head, Charles doesn't even flinch.

He counts that as a victory.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! And for letting me know that apparently people on the kinkmeme know I'm posting here. Um . . . I would post there, but, uh, I just found the kinkmeme like three weeks ago and have no idea how to operate on it, so if someone could direct me how to post there or to a site that tells me how, then I'll post there. Pretty please?

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Two<em>**

**Two Weeks Later**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>Charles slowly begins to thaw. It's the most drawn-out relaxation Erik has ever seen in any of his foster siblings. First, Charles begins to actually not flee from the room the second someone else enters, but surprisingly – or not surprisingly, if you talk to Erik's mother – his first test subject is Erik himself. If Erik enters a room, Charles usually looks up at him, and then looks back down and continues doing whatever he's doing. Then Charles begins to make eye contact, just a little bit, when he says "please" or "thank you" in his dulcet voice – but again, first only with Erik.<p>

But Charles still refuses to talk or be touched.

Erik also has no idea why Charles seems to drift towards Erik first, instead of his mother or father. His mother insists that it's because Erik is a mutant, but Charles seems utterly and equally terrified of Mister Shaw when they go to meet him.

They'd assigned Shaw to Charles as well, as they had said that it had been the first foster house that Charles had started to show improvement in and he was likely to stay, so they might as well have the same mutation counselor. The day they are going to meet him, they are forced to coax Charles from the house, and fear blasts Erik's mind in spurts as Charles attempts to control his mutation and remain calm. Erik's mother finally gives into the temptation and tells, quite firmly, "It's just a visit, and then we're coming back home." But Charles still remains wary.

It gets worse when they walk into the office and Shaw tries to smile. It's a nice smile, just . . . creepy. Erik smiles like a shark and he knows it, and so doesn't smile very often, but Shaw seems blissfully unaware that he is creepy.

Charles immediately takes refuge behind Erik, hands pressed tight to his legs, fear rising and falling sporadically due to Charles's lack of control.

"Well, well, well, who have we here?" Shaw beams, leaning over him. "Hello, little Charles." He opens his arms, as if to hug Charles, who merely trembles and presses closer to Erik's legs, as if he thinks Shaw might try to forcibly drag Charles away and lock him up. It's an overreaction if it's anything, and normally, it might cause Erik to shake off the foster sibling and push him or her forward – but this is different, because it is Charles.

He can't say _why_, but Charles is Charles is Charles . . . and yeah, Erik is not going to go any further down this route.

(Which is why, he reflects solemnly years later, staring at the grown-up Charles with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, twirling with a beautiful young lady across the bar, people like Emma call him emotionally constipated and don't let it up no matter how many women Erik picks up at bars. It takes him years to realize, of course, that he's okay with men or women.)

He leans down and turns, to crouch in front of Charles. _Easy, liebchen, easy_, he thinks, as hard as he can, visualizing the words sprouting wings and moving from his mind to Charles.

Charles looks at him, and the trembling stops, and his blue eyes go big and solemn.

_Just say hello. That's all._

Charles gives a tiny shake of his head. _Fear-surprise-fear_ touches Erik's mind, concrete and solid, as if Charles is making an effort to communicate purposefully, even if he's not using words, and Erik rocks back on his heels to think about it for a second. He doesn't really know how to reassure Charles without saying something empty, like "You'll never leave us". He knows Charles won't believe him.

_If I hold your hand?_ he tries.

Charles looks from his hand to Erik's, forehead creased in puzzlement. He doesn't seem to understand the concept of holding hands as comforting at all.

Charles doesn't like being touched, really; he'll suffer a brush of the hand or a clap on the shoulder, but only just, and he watches you warily like he thinks you might turn it into a slap later on. He's wholly justified, but it makes dealing with the boy a minefield. Even the slightest normal reaction leaves him cowering behind the table.

Or, sometimes, even _under_ the table, and then Erik spends hours coaxing him out.

"What's the problem, boy?" Shaw asks, sickly sweet. "You aren't scared of me, are you?" He snaps his fingers and lets the ball of crackling energy grow and grow, flickering brilliantly and otherworldly with the energy he has amassed. Erik doesn't quite understand his mutation, except that it's powerful and that Erik could throw anything and everything at Shaw with his own mutation and nothing would happen.

Even though Shaw quickly adds, "I'm like you, boy, relax," Charles flinches away, cowering against the cold metal chairs of the office that just a few minutes ago he was climbing into.

Shaw scoffs.

A sense of _weakling-ridiculous-foolish_ flashes through Erik's mind, and he nearly bites through his lip when he realizes that this is what Charles is picking up from Shaw's mind. Completely unintentional, of course, as Charles has little if any control, and if he did, he'd be working to keep Shaw _out_, not rummage through his mind, if the wild, fearful look in those blue eyes are anything to go by.

"Charles," Erik coaxes, giving into his impulse and holding out his hand.

Charles doesn't flinch or pull away, as for some reason he trusts Erik a little more, but he still looks confused, glancing between Erik's hand and face as though he doesn't understand, and Erik wants to slap himself when he remembers that Charles just _doesn't understand_ these little gestures of affection and support.

Of love.

It makes Erik's blood boil, sometimes, and he really wishes that he'll never meet the Markos – Charles's stepfather and stepbrother – because otherwise, he might "accidentally" lose control and the results . . . might not be pretty.

Erik's mother puts a hand on Shaw's arm, forcing him to put out the ball of energy, and speaks lowly and urgently in his ear, but Erik doesn't pay attention. He's been around Charles long enough to know that if he lets Charles stew in his fear and confusion, Charles will not be able to sleep, and will be all the more paranoid tomorrow for it.

_Come on, Charles, it's okay, I promise._

Charles shakes his head.

_You can do it, Charles. Just say hello. I believe in you_, he says absently, casting around for any kind of solution. _I know you can do it._

And that, surprisingly, seems to be what does it.

Charles's gaze flicks over to Shaw, who is watching from Erik to Charles as if they are a very interesting back and forth tennis match, and he takes a deep breath and says, "Hello, Mister Shaw." His voice cracks in the middle, and his eyes dart nervously around, but the important thing is that he _says_ it.

Sure, he's said things in Erik's mind, but this is the first time he's talked aloud for more than a "thank you" since he arrived.

Erik's father looks stunned, but Erik's mother smiles wide and pleased at Erik, while Shaw, Erik notes absently, looks a bit like a beached whale with his jaw hanging open and hand frozen in a gesture towards Charles, and –

Charles makes a funny little sound, like a mix between a sneeze, a cough, and a snort, and suddenly his eyes gleam, and he looks properly like a real seven-year-old boy.

But Erik has no time to dwell on it, because now Shaw is stepping forward, that creepy grin on his face, and leaning down to Charles and –

Oh, that is _not_ a good idea.

Erik cuts neatly between Shaw and a now-trembling Charles. Shaw stops short, surprised, and straightens, pinning Erik with his cold gaze, the smile faltering and fading away at this threat to his authority. Normally, Erik might not bother. But he knows Charles, knows him very well, and he knows that Charles does not take well at all to having taller people bend down and coo at him and attempt to pat him on the head, for two reasons: 1) it makes him feel cornered, and 2) because he hates being touched. Best case scenario, he flees – to where, Erik doesn't know, but apparently he is becoming the safe base, because Charles has run to him twice where Shaw is concerned. Worst case scenario, he lashes out with telepathy, and Erik really doesn't want to be turned into a vegetable.

He doesn't want to acknowledge the instinctive part of it, the bit that wants to slide between Charles and anything Charles fears, the part that wants to keep this abused little boy safe as much as he possibly can, in any way he can.

"What is this, Erik?" Shaw asks, quietly, his tone so flat that it's barely recognizable as a question.

Thankfully, Erik's mother intercedes. "You'll scare him that way, Herr Doktor," she says gently. "Here, stand back. Yes. Talk to him from here."

Shaw stares at her, seemingly annoyed and incredulous. "How can I counsel a boy if he can't even look at me without cowering?" he snaps, irritated, as Erik's mother guides him back to his desk on the other side of the room. "He's seven years old, he should be perfectly all right with this already."

"Not everyone is the same," Erik's mother returns coolly.

Erik holds Shaw's gaze for a few minutes, unwilling to back down, and when Shaw finally lowers his gaze and starts talking to Erik's father, he moves away and sits down in a chair, right next to Charles, who looks up at him, blue eyes wide and curious. Then he looks away, but not before Erik feels a very small hand touch Erik's own, and he reflexively flips his hand to hold Charles's.

And Charles, miraculously, _lets him_.

After the meeting wraps up, the car ride is very quiet, although Erik's mother does smile fondly at Charles and Erik before kissing Erik goodnight and heading up the stairs. Erik collapses into the sofa, and tries not to stare or startle when Charles clambers on as well and perches next to him.

"Erik?"

Erik's eyes snap to the little boy. It's the first word he's said directly, out loud, to Erik. Ever. And –

"You have a British accent," Erik says, somewhat stupidly, replaying the posh, accented sound of his name on Charles's tongue that somehow sounds a lot less arrogant and uppity than he might have originally thought.

Charles smiles shyly, ducking his head. _Mistress Sharon came from England_, he says. _She only hired British tutors and staff for me._

"Mistress Sharon?"

_My mother. I think. Yes, my mother. Everyone called her Mistress Sharon._

Erik bites his tongue again. First the abuse, and now this. And here Erik had thought that Charles was only traumatized and afraid of touch because of abuse. Now he sees that it goes much farther than that, and with something as equally damaging: neglect. And by Charles's own mother too.

"You know that you don't have to call my mother Mistress Edie, right?" Erik says, trying for teasing and failing abysmally. He can already feel his fists clenching in his anger – and why, oh _why_, is he so angry when he's seen so many kids pass through this home and in the agency just like Charles he can't understand, but he is, because it is _Charles_, and he can't help it anymore than he could help breathing.

Charles tilts his head. _Yes._

"Good."

Then Erik bites his tongue again, to prevent himself from interrogating Charles because all he wants to do is strangle Charles's entire family, and tries to think about something else, something better, anything else, because anything is better than imaging this sweet little boy in front of him being so neglected and abused.

That's when Charles makes that strange sound again, a puff of air that's a mix of a cough and a sneeze.

When Erik cranes his head around, afraid Charles is choking or something, he sees that the boy has his hands clapped firmly over his mouth, and his eyes are bright and luminous in a way Erik's never seen before save once – but it's so beautiful, and Charles actually looks _alive_ and young and innocent and everything he should be, and he decides instantly that it's a look Charles should wear much more often. Preferably all the time.

"What?"

The strange sound escapes.

But it's not until amusement – along with a fuzzy picture of the gigantic beached whale picture that Erik remembers, vaguely, from some biology book because Charles has never seen one and can only go on whatever Erik knows – that Erik realizes that this is Charles _laughing_.

"What're you laughing at?" he says grumpily, crossing his arms.

Charles laughs again. Well, really, it's more a giggle, but Erik will take what he can get.

_It was funny, Erik._ Charles hesitates, and Erik feels one of Charles's hands touch his own clenched fist, hesitant and gentle. _Thank you for that._

Erik relents, and carefully and slowly he unclenches his hand and turns it over and lays it between them, palm up, open and inviting, and he watches as Charles carefully, delicately, places a small pale hand in it, and it's not only the first time he's heard Charles laugh so freely and beautifully, but the first time Charles has _initiated_ contact between them, and despite the fact that it's just Charles's hand in his own, Erik feels strangely light-headed, because he knows the strength of Charles's mistrust in the world and his dislike of touching.

And yet.

And _yet_.

And yet here Charles is, sitting so close that there are only a few inches between them, and touching Erik, and having _initiated the touch_. This is such a major milestone, for such a small gesture, really, and Erik can understand, a little, while mothers fuss and coo over such small things that babies do because, really, sometimes they _are_ miracles.

Like Charles.

"You're welcome, _liebchen_," Erik says quietly, and he and Charles both understand it to be what it really is: a sign of trust, and of the growing bond between them, and a vow to never let that bond die.

He's never wanted a little brother, but Charles needs an older one, and if Charles wants it and Erik can give it to him . . . well, why would Erik deny him?


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to DB2020, who kindly decided to let me in on the secrets of how to post on the kink_meme! Thank you so much!

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Three<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>The meeting with Shaw seems, in someway, to cement Charles's opinion that Erik is a safe base. Erik's isn't quite sure how, but one day Charles is more likely to be backing silently against the table wide-eyed with fear, and the next, Charles attaches himself to Erik like an overeager puppy with an alarmingly, unnervingly good sense of where Erik is. It's as if he's hiding some GPS unit in his brain or something.<p>

So now, when Erik does his homework, spreading his books and papers and everything else all over the table in the living room with the television flickering through random shows, Charles perches himself on the safe next to him, sometimes drawing random pictures, other times trying to read books.

_What's this word?_ Charles asks.

Erik flicks his gaze over and frowns. _Serenity_, maus_, it's serenity_, he replies, slowing down as he speaks so Charles can understand how to pronounce it.

Charles's control over his telepathy is starting to get a lot better, although he still inadvertently projects and reads when he doesn't mean to if his emotional state is particularly volatile. But Charles still doesn't like speaking out loud, as his instinct is to use his telepathy, and Erik has no problem encouraging it. He likes the fact that he can have a private conversation with Charles even in a whole room full of people. And he is proud of his mutation, and sees no reason for Charles to be ashamed of his. Yes, Charles needs to learn control and morals – but Erik flatly refuses to let Charles repress himself for no reason. It's not like there's really anything in his head that can hurt Charles, and if there's anything he doesn't want Charles to see, he boxes it off using the classes he's taken, and Charles respects those boundaries.

Besides, Charles _loves_ watching Erik use his mutation. He doesn't see why he shouldn't take equal delight in Charles's.

Charles pouts at him. _I am _not_ a mouse_, he protests.

Erik grins at him. It has taken a while, but Charles has at least gotten to the point where Erik is able to tease him, because Charles has learned that Erik doesn't mind if he talks back, and actually enjoys it.

_Wanna bet?_ Erik says, reaching out to ruffle Charles's hair, inordinately pleased when Charles merely sticks his tongue out instead of flinching.

Baby steps, baby steps. Charles already permits Erik to hold his hand – or, rather, he's perfectly okay with reaching for Erik's hand when he feels the need to find comfort – and slowly, Erik's been working up to the normal kind of tactile interaction most people have: a clap on the shoulder, a ruffling of the hair, and so on. He does it as gently and nonchalantly as he knows how, because Charles lets him and trusts him, and he will not violate that trust.

And also, Charles doesn't understand the meaning of those kinds of gestures. Erik isn't quite sure how to explain why people hug yet, so he hasn't attempted to hug Charles.

Charles ducks away from Erik's touch after a moment, his gentle way of telling Erik that his touch is lingering a bit long, and retaliates by picking at his memories and flooding Erik's mouth with the taste of that nasty fluoride mouthwash that Erik had to use at his last dentist visit. Erik coughs and nearly bites off his own tongue, feeling his eyes water, and he pulls on what little training he received to pull up shields around his mind.

And yet, despite the shields being actually stronger than they were when Erik first learned how to keep Emma out, Charles's projection remains steady and it's only when Erik starts coughing as his body tries to reject a substance that isn't there that Charles releases it.

_Sorry-sorry-sorry-I'm sorry_, Charles apologizes hastily, small hands pressing butterfly-soft touches to Erik's arm and hand and thigh before withdrawing, as though Charles is trying to comfort Erik with the gestures Erik has been using, but isn't quite sure about the point – or how to convey the comfort anyways.

"It's okay," Erik chokes out, caught between laughing and still choking. He massages his throat.

"Erik?" his mother calls from the kitchen, where she's making Erik's favorite chocolate chip cookies as a reward for his perfect math test score last week. It was supposed to be a secret, but Erik can smell them, and he can feel the metal of the oven and the pans. "_Liebchen_, are you all right?"

"Yes!" Erik hollers back.

Charles eyes Erik with a little confusion and startled surprise – no doubt he's only heard people yelling at each other when they're angry – but he doesn't flinch back or seem ready to start cowering, which is an improvement, so Erik ruffles his hair again and stands.

"How many cookies do you want, _maus_?"

Charles stares up at him, blue eyes large and confused. "What's a cookie?"

It is not the first time that Charles has asked a question like this, the kind that makes Erik want to march up to the Department of Mutant Children and Families and demand the address of the Markos and then to go to them and do his best to tear them apart. Last time, it had been when Charles asked what the M&Ms were. And the time before that, it had been the _Harry Potter_ movie that had been playing. And the time before that, it had been the ice cream and popsicles. Erik still feels that surge of anger, deep in his gut, but he contains it – lashing out will only frighten Charles – and instead pastes a smile on his face and says, "I guess you'll find out, won't you?"

In the kitchen, he steals a handful of the freshly baked cookies – earning himself a smack on the hand by his mother, but when she sees his face and he mouths, "For Charles," her face softens and she lets him. He also makes a point of snagging a bag of M&Ms from the shelf for Charles too, in case he doesn't like cookies, but Erik thinks Charles will.

Charles has a surprisingly strong sweet tooth, for someone who has never really had candy before.

Sure enough, Charles is watching him with avid eyes when he returns to the living room, and Erik barely has time to sit down before Charles is holding his hand out, greedy, for the M&Ms.

"Which hand?" Erik asks.

But he barely has time to juggle the bag from hand to hand before Charles is touching his mind, soft yet insistent. It's not at full power, just Charles making his wish for the M&Ms clear, but Erik can feel the restrained power humming underneath it, and he knows that if Charles wanted to, he could _make_ Erik give it to him.

Erik's not scared, though. Charles has a horror of making anyone do anything they don't want to, thanks to his stepfamily. And, honestly, this is _Charles_. He doesn't need telepathy to sway Erik's mind.

"All right, _maus_, here," he says, tossing it to Charles. "But first . . ."

He holds out the plate of cookies with his power, making it float around Charles like a little satellite purely for the happiness he feels at Charles's wide-eyed delight at the use of his mutation.

"What is it?"

"Eat it and I'll tell you," Erik bargains, but he keeps his tone light and teasing. Charles doesn't like being backed into corners – he likes the implied ability to turn things down, and Erik is always very careful to give Charles that choice to come to him, because he doesn't want Charles to ever look at him with that fearful cowering that passes over his face when he thinks of the Markos.

Charles wrinkles his nose. "Will I like it?"

"I hope so."

Slowly, Charles reaches out and takes a cookie, and then, equally slowly, he takes a bite and chews at it, as if he expects that Erik is lying and it's really poison. Erik turns back to his homework, trying to be as nonchalant as possible as he scribbles out math answers and chews on his own cookie, getting crumbs everywhere and not really caring.

Surprise bursts into the edge of Erik's mind.

"It tastes good," Charles says, sounding surprised, around a mouthful of what looks like half a cookie.

Erik raises an eyebrow. "Do you think I would give you something that tasted bad?"

Charles considers it for a moment, and then shakes his head and steals another cookie. "How come you are so quiet?" he asks after a moment.

"Hmm? Oh. Sorry." Erik retracts the reinforcements on his shielding, maintaining only the minimum so that he isn't annoying Charles with every mundane thought. Shaw has theorized that with time and training, Erik could probably learn to build up his shielding to block out most telepaths, but Erik sees no need to right now. Charles's telepathy is perfectly harmless – the worst thing he's done is flood Erik's mouth with fluoride mouthwash taste, after all.

_That's better. What did you do?_

Erik leans back, using his own powers to pull the plate closer so he can take a cookie and watching as Charles tracks the plate with his eyes, reaching out for his own and pouting when Erik pulls it over his head teasingly.

"I was shielding. To try and stop your mouthwash attack."

Charles tilts his head. "You can do that?"

He sounds awed, and Erik is tempted to shake his head in disbelief. It's really not that amazing; almost anyone can learn to hold up the minimum type of shielding, even without Erik's mutation. Erik can just take it a step further because he can manipulate the electromagnetic spectrum.

"Yes, _maus_. We all had to learn it."

Before Charles can ask anymore questions, Erik's mother calls, "Erik, you have another testing session tomorrow!"

Erik groans. He hates those sessions. All he does is sit or stand there as they take measurements while he flings metal around so that they can add new notes onto his record and track his progress. They've projected that he might keep going until he reaches Level 5, the most powerful level there is, although Erik disagrees. Level 5s are characterized by an unconscious _and_ conscious control of their abilities, and for Erik, his mutation has always been consciously controlled. So mostly, he sits there and is bored for an hour or so while they argue amongst themselves and then wet their pants when he does something alarming.

"What's a testing session?" Charles asks curiously.

"They test the strength of your ability," Erik answers. "You're probably due for one soon too, _maus_. Everyone starts going after they manifest, and every two years after that until you stabilize."

"Why?"

"Just to keep track of things."

Charles chews "But how would they test me?"

Erik opens his mouth – and then shuts it. He actually doesn't have an answer for that, and he refuses to lie to Charles, even out of ignorance. Tekepaths and metalkinetics aren't really alike, and he has no idea how a telepath's power might be measured. Maybe he should ask Shaw. It might be the only useful thing the man might be able to do, since he insists on scaring Charles out of his wits and asking the oddest of questions.

Erik's mother calls them over for dinner, then, and so Erik puts the problem out of his mind. He's sure Charles will be fine. And if he isn't – well, the scientists will just have to answer to Erik then when he picks Charles up.

Charles, however, does not.

But Erik doesn't find that out until Charles broadcasts his nightmare – not his first, apparently – and nearly knocks out the whole neighborhood.

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><p>AN: Thanks for all the reviews! And my first cliffhanger (wow, I really took a long time getting to one, usually I have a lot more. . . . )

Anyways! A reviewer asked if Shaw was going to be the bad guy. So. Here's the thing: I haven't actually decided yet, and this story can go either way in my head, so let me ask you all: Do you want Shaw to be the big bad guy, or not? (Let me just warn you, though, that if Shaw ends up being the big bad guy, you will be in for a longer story, and a bit more angst in the middle, although I promise there's a happy ending no matter which road we take.)


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Well . . . the general consensus seems to be that I should do whatever I want to with Shaw. Most people, however, were okay with angst in the middle. So. Once I finish doing the Charles/Erik relationship building, then I'll make my decision as to whether we get Shaw the bad guy or someone else as the bad guy, because . . . I am a sucker for angst and it tends to creep into every single one of my stories no matter what.

One guaranteed: Shaw will continue being a creep, I promise, although you'll have to work out for yourselves whether he is, in the end, the grand mastermind behind everything or just a puppet.

Ah . . . warnings for slightly violent and bloody dream from Charles, courtesy of Kurt and Cain Marko and a tiny bit of Shaw.

Chapter dedicated to UnSpecial, my fiftieth reviewer!

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Four<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>Erik's sitting in bed and trying to come up with an idea for his mother's birthday when suddenly a rush of fear bulldozes past his shields, paralyzing Erik with its potency. He barely notices as he falls out of bed and crumples to the floor, too caught up in the whirlwind of darkness and blood and ice-cold <em>fear<em>. It's not until a lamp nearly falls on his head that he realizes that his abilities are shaking his entire room – and, even more importantly, that the fear that is causing his control to fly to pieces is _not his fear_.

Charles.

He slams up every shield he's ever learned from Emma and Shaw and the classes he's taken, and the barrage lessens just enough that he's able to stagger to his feet, and then, with some judicious help from the door and the wall and Charles's door, stumble his way into Charles's room.

At first glance, everything seems fine.

Then Erik realizes that the only reason Charles isn't moving around is because he's already so twisted up in his bedsheets that he literally _can't_ move around anymore, and so is now reduced to whimpering and crying, struggling futilely, his face half-mashed into the mattress.

When Erik gets closer, he also realizes that Charles isn't actually whimpering – he's talking, the most Erik's ever heard from him, and each word makes him angrier and angrier.

It's a constant, steady flow of _please_ and _don't_ and _I'm sorry_ and _no_.

After that, Erik doesn't need to wonder what Charles is having a nightmare about. He's never talked about his stepfather or stepbrother before, but Erik's seen the medical reports, and he knows that Charles does conceal some nasty scars on his back under his shirt. He hasn't pushed Charles yet, and of course Shaw's made no headway on that area, but perhaps now is the time – before Charles's telepathy knocks out the whole neighborhood.

Erik reaches out and puts a hand on Charles's shoulder, fingers brushing his neck, ready to shake him awake –

Pain shoots through him, like an electrical shock, and Erik crumples.

And lands in a nightmare.

The walls are bright white – so bright that they hurt Erik's eyes, and he has to focus on the floor. He feels suddenly warm, too warm, like it's over a hundred degrees, and when he turns around, he finds a roaring fire consuming the tables and desks behind him, crackling and growing in leaps and bounds. When he looks up again, the walls are no longer too bright, because they are splattered with blood, smeared in handprints and blobs that make Erik feel sick to his stomach. Diagrams and papers litter the floor, filled with the same words over and over again: "You're a freak, Charles Xavier, time to die". The fire, apparently, has plenty of fuel.

"Charles!" Erik shouts.

There is no response.

He runs – or slips, more like it – across the floor, following the grisly trail of blood, feeling the fire gain two steps on him for every step he takes until _finally_ – Charles.

The boy is curled into a tiny ball in the corner, shivering. His shirt is ripped to shreds, and his legs are soaked red due to the blood streaming from his back. His clothes are white, like the walls – like a mental prisoner's uniform. His hair is shorn in uneven patches, bald in some places, tuffs of chestnut hair in others. He's shivering, as if completely drenched, but there's nothing on him except his own blood. The fire is reflected in his blue eyes, but he seems completely paralyzed, unable to run, and when Erik shouts his name and leaps forward, Charles opens his mouth – and screams.

The scream shakes the very foundation of the dream. Erik is sent skidding backward, tremors making it impossible to find his balance.

When the scream stops, Erik looks up, cursing, to find the reason for the scream.

A tall man in a lab coat is standing in front of Charles, a glowing whip of fire with a metal belt buckle in one hand and a clipboard under his other arm. Charles's ankle is lying now at an odd angle, flames licking their way at the strips of blood.

"Trying to escape?" the scientist sneers, and it's the weirdest mix of Shaw's voice with . . . some other voice – Kurt, Erik presumes. "But I won't be letting you go, pretty bird, now will I?"

Erik jumps to his feet and raises his hands and shoves, sending the scientist plummeting backwards, but Charles only cowers further into the corner when he approaches, blue eyes large and scared, like a wild animal.

"Charles – it's me," Erik says desperately, as the fire inches ever closer and sweat drips down his forehead. "This is all just a dream. You're asleep. You can wake up. This is just a dream, I swear – "

Charles shakes his head, helplessly, tears slipping down his shirt. "You're hurting me," he whispers. "You've hurt me."

Erik looks down at his hands and gasps.

They are covered in blood.

_Charles's_ blood.

And – And Erik is suddenly standing, towering over Charles, and he is raising his hand and summoning that flame-tipped metal whip to his hand and drawing it back over his head and his target is that fearful face and Charles is screaming for anything, anyone to help him but no one is coming and the scientist in the lab coat is laughing again, patting him on the back and whispering, "Good boy, Erik, keep on going" in Shaw's voice and Erik can't stop himself as the whip goes flying downwards –

"_No!_" he snarls, throwing himself backwards at the last minute. "_Goddamn it – Wake up, Charles, now!_"

The room vanishes, abruptly.

Erik sits bolt upright to find Charles scrambling awkwardly backwards, still tangled in his sheets, to cower against the headboard.

Erik is reaching for him before he can stop himself, yanking the blankets off and pulling Charles against his chest, wrapping him firmly in a hug and not letting go, not even when Charles cries out and hits him and then finally subsides to whimper weakly against his chest, fingers clenched tight into Erik's shirt.

"It's okay, Charles," he whispers, resting his cheek against Charles's hair. "It was just a dream. Just a dream."

Charles sniffles. "M'sorry."

Erik rubs circles into Charles's back. He's not good at the comforting business, so all he can do is draw on what his mother used to do to him. It used to help him too, he remembers, on cold nights when he woke up with nightmares.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Erik says firmly, leaning against the headboard and holding Charles tight to him.

Charles continues to snuffle against his chest, curling against Erik as though he's the only thing keeping Charles awake and away from that terrifying dream-world of fire and blood. His sobs shake his whole body, and confusion and pain linger in the air as Charles struggles to reel in his telepathy.

After a long moment, Erik says, "You know I would never hurt you like that, right?"

Charles peers up at him, blue eyes watery. _I know._

Erik breathes out a long sigh of relief and rests his chin on the top of Charles's head, holding him and waiting for Charles to calm down.

It takes a long while, but eventually Charles goes still in his arms, drowsily rubbing at his eyes and relaxing.

"Did I wake up the whole neighborhood?" Charles asks, voice rough and small.

Erik looks out the window, watching as lights from the houses around them flick off one by one as people go back to sleep, and he sighs. For all of Charles's lack of control and youth, his telepathy is still pretty powerful and his range is just as impressive. "Probably," Erik answers. "But it's still not your fault, _maus_. Everyone has nightmares."

"Not like mine."

Erik sighs again. "Yes, probably not like yours, but everyone still has them. And everyone definitely needs sleep afterwards."

"I know." Charles blinks at him, eyes serious and distant. "I made them."

Erik looks at him. Stares. And then looks back outside, where, sure enough, all the lights except the streetlights are off again, and he's certain that everyone is back asleep, as peacefully unaware of the world as they were before Charles's nightmare woke them up.

"Oh."

" . . . I shouldn't have done it?"

"Well . . ." Erik strokes his hair. "It's not exactly the best way to use your telepathy, _maus_, but it's excused."

Charles looks down. "Sorry."

"Hey." Erik reaches down and tilts Charles's head up so that their eyes meet. "Charles, listen to me. This was _not_ your fault. Everyone has nightmares. It's nothing unusual. I'd be more worried if you _didn't_ have a nightmare."

"Not everyone's nightmare disturbs everyone else," Charles retorts sulkily.

"I broke apart some house foundations," Erik says truthfully, wincing at the memory. "At least you didn't do that."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I've gotten better at it – and so will you – but, yeah, the first few years were rough. Why do you think everything downstairs is as non-metal as possible?"

Charles tilts his head. "I thought it was to prevent you from being distracted."

"Well, that too. But mostly it was because whenever I had a nightmare, I'd shake the whole house," Erik admits. "I was dangerous too. And I've learned control. I have no doubt that you'll learn control just like I did and be just fine, Charles."

Charles clutches at him. "Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay."

Charles lays his head against Erik's chest, pressing close as if trying to memorize his heartbeat, fingers twisted tight into Erik's shirt as if he has no intention of letting go. Erik's a little startled that Charles gave in so easily – usually he remains suspicious and needs a lot of coaxing from Erik – but Erik's not going to question it. Right now they both need sleep, not more questions, so after a moment he gently pulls away and tucks Charles back under the covers before heading off to change and get into his own bed.

He's woken up only an hour later, when the door shifts and the metal hums across his consciousness, and he sits up, alarmed and reaching for the metal, to find –

Charles.

"What?" Erik grunts, still half-asleep as he releases the hold on the metal.

Charles blinks.

"Can't sleep?" Erik guesses with a sigh. He doesn't remember taking forever to fall asleep after nightmares – but then again, Charles apparently has worse nightmares than Erik ever has had. Even now Erik's crossing his fingers that Charles's nightmares don't show up in Erik's own, because they were _scary_. And he is definitely _not_ thinking about how they are seemingly _normal_ for Charles, because a little boy like Charles definitely shouldn't be having such graphic nightmares, and –

Well.

Kurt Marko and Cain Marko better pray that fate never lets them cross paths with Erik.

Charles nods hesitantly, clutching his stuffed mouse closer and rocking from foot to foot as if uncertain and definitely not as if he had just the previous night asked Erik to stay with him to guard against nightmares.

"Well, what do you want?"

_Can I stay?_ Charles asks, and even his mind-voice is small and scared.

Erik groans, as if annoyed, but in reality he's almost thrilled that Charles trusts him so much. He knows that promises don't mean much to Charles, and yet for some reason Charles takes his promise to never hurt Charles so seriously. It's mind-boggling, and thrilling in a way that makes Erik's head spin. No one has ever trusted him so unreservedly, and it makes him want to grab Charles and wrap him up in a hug and never let anything touch him again, to keep him safe from the world and everything that might hurt him.

Erik kicks off part of the covers. "Fine."

Charles clambers in, agile and silent, until he's nestled against Erik's side. _Thank you_, he breathes into Erik's mind, his voice sleep-soft and small.

"Go to sleep, Charles," Erik says.

It's only later, when Erik has finally began to fall asleep again, dozing off to the sound of Charles's steadily slowing breathing and the thrum of metal around him, that Charles looks up at him and says, sleepily, "You never answered me earlier. So is this what serenity is supposed to feel like, Erik?"

Erik blinks. He's almost forgotten where that even came from. But Charles is right – Erik never did answer him about the definition of serenity.

"Yeah." He strokes Charles's hair and rests his hand on his back. "Something like this."

Charles buries his face in Erik's chest and yawns. "I'm glad you're here with me, Erik," he says, and falls asleep.

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><p>AN: So . . . was that nightmare believable? Or just a bit too much?


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Kudos to Greeniron, for your amazingly succinct vote on the question I posed two chapters back; and to Magpie09, for your interesting idea on the same question (that I just might steal, thanks a bunch!)

Brief summary: Dancing in the rain! (And now I start stealing lines from the movie. Not mine, I swear, or I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.)

Random reference to Iroh from Avatar: The Last Airbender, kudos to whoever can spot it. And damn this fic keeps getting longer. I meant to already be on Charles's first day of school & meeting Emma and Raven by now. Grr. Sorry everyone! At least it's fluffier than the last one.

Chapter dedicated to k-shee, who went and reviewed every single chapter AND recced one of my fics! Thanks!

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Five<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>The nightmares still come to Charles, but with much less frequency now. Erik's not entirely sure whether the decreasing frequency is because Charles is growing more comfortable in the Lehnsherr household or because whenever there <em>is<em> a nightmare, ten seconds later Erik wakes up to Charles tugging on his hand by his bed in a silent request to crawl in and curl up by his side. Usually he pretends to be annoyed, because that's just how teenagers are, but Charles is the exception to the rule that Erik doesn't really feel like examining too closely.

Other than the nightmares, though, Charles seems to be his normal quiet yet steadily cheerful self. He has no problem laughing the time that Erik tries levitating again only to endure yet another painful fall down the stairs, frantically pushing and pulling against the Earth's magnetic fields just enough to avoid breaking a bone but not enough to successfully levitate.

_What an adorable lab rat you are_, Charles teases, pointedly bringing up memories of metal mouse head Erik made for him and keeps adding more detail too whenever he's trying to experiment and comparing it side by side to Erik's continuous attempts to levitate.

Erik scowls at him from the bottom of the stairs. "Don't ruin this for me, Charles."

Charles grins. _I have a lab rat. I know one when I see one._ He tilts his head to lean against the wall from the top of stairs where he's sitting cross-legged with his stuffed mouse and a book. _But of course, if you were a proper lab rat, you'd have much less hair, see – _

Erik bats away the mental image of Charles clipping away at his hair and shudders. Erik was never a clumsy boy; his mutation makes him graceful, the Earth's magnetic field buoying him up even before he was able to do much more than just sense the metal around him. Charles is sweeter in disposition, but far less coordinated. And far less fashion-conscious than a man twice the age of Erik's teachers.

_Are you _sure_ you won't let me shave your head?_ Charles asks, pouting.

Erik shudders again and pushes himself to his feet, giving up on the effort. "Don't touch my hair."

And Charles is scarily smart.

Erik finds this out the hard way, when he's struggling with some biology homework about Mendelian genetics and Punnet squares and all of that glorious genetic work that Erik could care less about, and Charles looks up when he senses Erik's frustration.

"What's wrong?" he asks. Charles is getting a little better at not overhearing thoughts – or at least _pretending_ that he didn't overhear a nasty surface thought – but he still needs working on talking out loud, so Erik is starting to ignore Charles's projections. Or, at least, he's trying to, but sometimes he just can't ignore Charles when Charles is pouting at him.

Sometimes, he thinks that Charles is doing better at talking more to him than he is at ignoring Charles talking to him.

Which is sad.

And, yeah, Erik's _not_ going down that route of thought.

"Bio," Erik answers, shoving it aside.

Charles frowns. "I thought you were doing physics."

"If I was doing physics, would I be stuck now?" Erik retorts. His mutation is good for things like physics and engineering and math – he's excellent at it, and he barely has to think about the homework, which usually takes him anywhere from two to ten minutes. Biology and literature and history – not so much.

Charles reaches over and snags it from him, staring down at it with (what years from now, Raven will dub his "face of serious contemplation and concentration") a little furrow between his eyes, head tilted, tongue poking out from between his lips.

Erik stands. Usually that face means Charles will ask for tea in five . . . four . . . three . . . two –

_Well, if you're going to offer, then I might as well cut short the process_, Charles says in his mind. _Yes, please._

Charles is terrible at cooking. He's good at scrounging food to eat from leftovers or from whatever is lying around, but he is absolutely terrible at trying to cook. The first time Erik tried to teach him to boil pasta, Charles managed to burn the water. How, Erik still doesn't know, but in the end, he gave up and simply gave Charles the dishwashing duties instead. That includes tea – the last time Charles tried to make it, he set off the smoke detector.

_I maintain that that was a defective kettle and not my fault_, Charles complains as Erik flicks on the stove and rummages through the cabinets for tea bags.

"How do you even know that word?" Erik asks incredulously.

_I was reading the newspaper._

"Charles," Erik says in exasperation, "you are seven years old. Can't you read Doctor Seuss or something?"

_Is it wrong?_

"No, just . . ." Erik pours a cup of tea. "You make me feel really inferior sometimes, Charles," Erik says teasingly with a sigh, moving back to the living room and ruffling Charles's hair as he passes.

Charles looks up at him as he sets the homework down and wraps his hands around the cup of tea, looking like Erik's just given Charles a million dollars instead of a simple cup of steaming water and boiled leaf juice. _It is not boiled leaf juice, it is tea_, Charles says primly. _And you're over twice my age, shouldn't I be inferior to you?_

Erik smiles fondly at him. "You'll never be inferior to me, Charles, you know that."

Charles blushes bright pink and hides behind his tea. It's one of Charles's more endearing qualities sometimes, his humility, and Erik is not above teasing Charles mercilessly in order to see him like this. As long as Charles isn't endlessly questioning his self-worth, that is. And Erik is definitely, carefully not thinking of Charles as endearing. Certainly not. No.

A little bit.

That's when a sudden gust of wind brings the steady _pitter-patter_ sound of rain to their roof, and Charles puts down the cup to run to the window and peer excitedly outside, as if he's never seen rain before in his life.

"It's just rain, _maus_."

Charles looks at him like he's grown two heads. "Can I go outside?"

Erik blinks. "Charles, it's pouring," he points out, bewildered. "Why on earth would you want to go outside?"

"Please," Charles begs, all bright-eyed and pink-cheeked and pouting.

Erik sighs. "All right, all right – but not too long, or you'll catch a cold, and no, I do not wish to experiment on whether or not a telepath with a cold is going to actually make us all sick or simply make us feel sick," he adds, cutting off Charles's retort before it can manifest. "I hate being sick, Charles, you know that; every time I am, I shake the whole house when I cough." Or attract every bit of metal to him every time he sneezes, it tends to vary. The only constant is that it is flat out _annoying_, and they have to bolt down every bit of metal around.

Charles considers it. "Fine," he says grumpily. "Are you coming?"

"_Maus_, bring a coat!" Erik calls after him as he dashes towards the door, flings it open, and vanishes into the rain. He sighs and gathers up his own coat – his mother will kill him if she finds out Erik let Charles run around in the rain without a coat – and Erik is still a little uncomfortable leaving Charles all alone, because Charles still doesn't react well with strangers even when Erik is present. He can finish his –

Erik freezes as he glances down at his biology homework.

It's completed.

Correctly.

Charles just completed his high school biology homework in the time it took Erik to boil him a cup of tea.

_Upside to super-smart foster siblings_, Erik thinks grimly, shrugging on his coat and snatching Charles's as he walks towards the door, _they can do your homework for you. Downside to super-smart siblings: they make you look dumb._

Erik walks out the door and prepares to yell at Charles to get his butt over here and put on a coat before he catches pneumonia and makes the whole neighborhood suffer the effects along with him when he realizes what Charles has actually been doing while Erik's been freaking out about Charles having twice his IQ.

Charles. Is. Dancing.

Dancing.

It's the most unselfconscious Erik's ever seen Charles before. His eyes are closed and he's flitting about in the front lawn, laughing and swaying to some internal beat that only he hears, and yet although he's completely soaked and looks like a drowned mouse, somehow he still seems utterly ethereal and otherworldly – beautiful and innocent and childish in a sweet way that is somehow more endearing than annoying. Charles looks . . . normal. Happy. Serene.

Thankfully, Erik manages to pick his jaw back off the ground just in time for Charles to glance over and laugh at him.

"Come on!"

Erik crosses his arm. "No, no thank you. One person ill with pneumonia is more than enough."

"I won't get sick," Charles replies cheerfully, throwing his head back and letting the rain splatter over his face. "I used to do this when I was little. Never got sick, not even once."

"Watch this be the one time where that's _not_ true," Erik says dryly. But in reality, he has no intention of forcing Charles inside. Charles looks happy and free and like a normal seven-year-old right now, and even though Erik would rather bite his own tongue off than admit it out loud, he's perfectly content to lean against the doorframe and watch Charles dance around and smile around the odd fluttery feeling in his stomach that makes him feel like everything is all right in the world.

That, of course, is right when Charles shrieks.

Erik's off the door and across the lawn before he even registers that Charles is laughing his butt off.

"Charles?"

He leans down and lifts Charles out of the puddle he apparently slipped on and then face-planted into. There's mud all over Charles's shirt, but he's still laughing uncontrollably, the sound happy and bright in a way that calms Erik. Charles, in turn, reaches for him, and Erik gathers him to his chest.

The moment his fingers touch Charles's cheek, a flickering reel of memories unfolds in Erik's mind, a flash-flash-flash of images and thoughts: Charles running around, perfectly happy as rain splashes in his face; then a flash of annoyance, when rain splatters in his eyes, but he gets over it and closes them and keeps running; then fear, for a second, when his foot slips farther than he meant it to; then, quite simply, _splat_, and then the memories dissolve into hysterical, uncontrollable laughter as Charles realizes he's sitting, completely soaked, in a mud puddle that would have probably given his mother a heart attack.

"Splat?" Erik repeats. "Really?"

Charles giggles. "No – I – " he tries to say, but he's laughing so hard he barely has the breath for anything.

Erik just sighs and takes him back to the house. He doesn't know how exactly he knows this, but he has the sense that if Charles gets like this, he can't do much but wait it out. And wait it out he does, because Charles laughs all the way through Erik manhandling him into the shower, cooking dinner, forcing it down Charles's throat, and finally, hiccupping all the way through Harry Potter movie until Charles is finally exhausted and falls asleep in Erik's lap, curled on the floor between Erik's legs using Erik's chest as a pillow.

Erik thumps his head back against the sofa from where he's sitting on the floor. _Downside #2 to super-smart siblings_, he thinks, gathering Charles in his arms and starting up the stairs, _when they choose to act normally, they go overboard on that too._

Charles gives a little snort against his shoulder. _Be quiet and let me sleep, Erik_, he complains, nuzzling like a cat into Erik's neck and squirming as if trying to find a more comfortable position to sleep.

"As you command, Your Majesty," Erik says, and drops him unceremoniously onto his bed. "Good night," he calls as Charles throws a pillow at him.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: So, keeping up with the tradition of previous chapters in Charles's firsts: Thunderstorm! Lightning! And pillow fort, because . . . well, just because. And can you imagine how awesome pillow forts would be with Erik's mutation? And now I'm rambling. . . . . Whatever!

Kudos to blanc-hiver, and Magpie09 for catching my Avatar: The Last Airbender reference to the tea quote by General Iroh! (IDK what episode, so don't ask me, but it came from there somehow)

Chapter dedicated to simply anonymous, who also caught my Avatar: The Last Airbender and was my 81st reviewer (81 is a lucky number for me, and I really am excited to have that many reviews, so thanks to simply anonymous, and thanks to everyone else who has been following and reviewing!)

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Six<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>That night, Erik is woken from his very pleasant dream by a gigantic crack of thunder and a weird tingling sensation around him, almost like static buzzing gently around him. He lets out a long breath, closing his eyes and reaching out to the gathering lightning strikes. He can feel them, subtly building and then releasing in a single eye-searing bolt that sends tingles down his spine. It's why he was never, ever scared of thunderstorms, something that made his mother very thankful.<p>

He doesn't know how long he stays there, eyes closed, reveling in the tingling on the lightning strikes, before he notices the small Charles-sense in the back of his mind.

Erik sighs. "Charles?"

The sense of Charles is his mind stills, like a caught-out guilty child, and then rapidly decreases before Erik can say anything else.

"No, wait – "

Now that Erik's fully awake, he can almost taste the fear permeating the household. It's subtle, almost like an itch under one's skin, but now that he's paying attention to it he cannot help but notice. It's not the panicky, irrational fear from a nightmare, Erik can tell – if that were the case, Charles would be broadcasting all over the place, and would probably have already crawled into Erik's bed.

Fear of thunderstorms then?

Erik throws back his covers and pads down the corridor. He opens Charles's door just in time for another giant clap of thunder followed by a blinding flash of lightning, and he hears a faintly muffled, terrified squeak from under the desk near the window.

"Charles?"

Erik crouches on the ground to find Charles curled in a tiny ball under the desk, eyes wide and scared, fist stuffed against his mouth to still the fearful whimpers, body trembling and shaking.

"Charles, it's me," he coaxes gently.

He feels the faintest brush of Charles's mind against his, almost like a confirmation of his identity, and then Charles launches himself into Erik's arms, nuzzling against his chest and hiding his face against his neck. His fear bleeds through to Erik's mind – and it is a little bit irrational, as he knows Charles objectively knows that the lightning and thunder can't hurt him, but at least it's not a nightmare. Erik can explain thunderstorms. Possibly even better than his parents, who are sound sleepers and not as sensitive to telepathy as Erik is.

Erik rubs at Charles's back and rocks him a little bit, surprised that Charles didn't know it was him. "Bad dream again, _maus_?" he murmurs near Charles's ear.

Charles shakes his head.

"What is it?"

There's a moment, and then an image blooms in Erik's mind: the doorway, dark like the room; then the door suddenly pulled open to reveal a dark figure at the same time as a lightning strike flashing in the distance, illuminating someone much taller and stronger with a mind of steel and strength, and Charles feels so small and tiny and helpless, but he can't stop himself from crying out in fear, or from crawling under the desk and scrunching himself into a tiny ball, hoping that Master Kurt will just give up and go away –

Erik feels his grip on Charles tighten instinctively, and he lets out a long, angry breath. Kurt Marko had definitely better _not_ ever cross Erik's path.

"Kurt is nowhere near here, _maus_," Erik says instead, holding Charles close as he can without smothering him, making the promise as much to Charles as to himself. "And if he was, you know I would never let him anywhere near you. I would especially never let him in this house."

Charles clutches at him, blue eyes wide, but the fear is beginning to subside. _Promise?_

"I promise, Charles." Erik brushes at chocolate locks and smiles when Charles cuddles trustingly against him, eyes drooping closed. "Now, do you want some hot chocolate before you go back to sleep?"

As predicted, Charles's eyes light up. He'd discovered the hot chocolate when Erik's mother had dipped some cookies in and then given them to the boy, and Charles had loved it. And Erik knows that his mother used to give him hot chocolate after nightmares, a graduation from hot milk, and he hopes that it might help Charles. And he's guaranteed no bad associations with it in Charles's minefield of things that set him off, because certainly Charles's mother had never made it for him before.

Erik stands and leads Charles downstairs, noting with dismay that with each lightning strike or thunder boom, the boy jumps or flinches before pressing ever closer to Erik, seemingly forgetting each and every time that the thunder and lightning can't hurt him – and, even more importantly, that his tormentors won't jump out and grab him.

Unfortunately, Erik can't do much more to reassure Charles on that point than he has. All he can do hope that someday Charles's trust will grow enough that he actually believes Erik when Erik swears to never let the Markos.

So he is silent as he makes the hot chocolate and sets it in front of Charles, and doesn't stop Charles when he tentatively slips into Erik's mind.

_You can feel the lightning?_

Erik nods lazily, propping up his feet and watching Charles gulp down the hot chocolate like it's air. "Some of my abilities extend into the electromagnetic spectrum," he answers. "Not as powerful, but there. Never been afraid of lightning."

Charles sets down the mug. _I never liked lightning_, he confesses. _It was always scary._

As if to illustrate his point, a particularly bright flash of lightning makes Charles jump, and only the metal base of the mug – Erik's favorite, and the one Charles now most often steals – allows Erik to keep it from smashing into the floor. Charles slinks off his chair and crawls into Erik's lap, and Erik folds his arms around him. Sometimes Charles reminds Erik of a real-life teddy bear, the kind he was given in the hospital when they were first testing him, except of course that right now Charles is the one seeking comfort, not the other way around.

"It can't hurt you."

Charles shudders like a leaf in the wind in his arms. "Scary," he mutters.

Erik rests his chin on Charles's hair and thinks. Charles feels too wide awake and scared in his mind; Erik can guess that he probably won't fall asleep no matter what. Charles will not tell him this, of course. Charles has been taking care of himself for so long that he'd probably just curl up under his desk again and wait it out. And Erik won't be able to sleep knowing Charles is hiding, but Charles probably won't sleep even if he curls up in Erik's bed, and Erik can't sleep if Charles is awake and paralyzed with fear in his bed.

Only one thing to do then. Thank God there is no school tomorrow.

"Charles," Erik begins, "have you ever built a pillow fort?"

Charles lifts his head and stares. That in itself is more than answer enough, actually, so Erik grins and gently pushes Charles off before standing and starting for the stairs. His room has more than enough metal and blankets and pillows for this, and it should help Charles make some good memories to counter the bad.

Charles trails along like a lost puppy, still flinching at each crack of thunder. "What are you doing?"

Erik shuts the door and carefully blocks out the memories of anything to do with pillow forts. He wants this to be a surprise. "Charles, can you close your eyes for a few minutes? I'll be right here, I promise," he adds, resting a hand on Charles's shoulder that Charles immediately clutches at.

"Why?"

"You'll see."

Charles eyes him warily. But it's not real wariness, not like when they first met and Charles was utterly convinced that Erik wanted to slice his head off and bury him in the backyard. It's just Charles knowing that Erik likes to play pranks, and not wanting to become Erik's newest victim. "What are you going to do?"

"You'll see."

_If you're going to pick me up and tickle me again, I will make you taste mouthwash for a week_, Charles threatens.

"It was _once_, Charles."

_Twice_, Charles insists, plucking both occasions from Erik's memory and then overloading them with Charles's own, so that Erik inadvertently squirms from an imaginary itch along his sides and feels the burn in his lungs of laughing so hard that he nearly wheezes. _You got me twice._

"Fine, but the second time wasn't my fault. You just weren't paying attention."

Charles snorts, but he turns his cheek into Erik's hand when he cups Charles's face, and he does close his eyes.

Erik raises his hand, and around him, blankets unfurl and pillows levitate and the walls themselves shudder and shift. Everything has metal in it somewhere, because it helps Erik sleep, and in no time at all, his entire room is a giant pillow fort, with blankets sealing out the world outside save for a pair of pillows guarding the entrance that stand right in front of Charles. Erik frowns and adjusts it a bit, not stopping until it's Charles-sized. The whole thing is, and Erik will probably have to crawl around and sit carefully to avoid bumping his head – but it's worth it. Charles is worth it.

He crouches down. "Okay, _maus_, open your eyes."

Charles's eyes flick open – and his jaw drops. For a second, he goes completely still – so still Erik swears a pin could be heard dropping over the mental little niche Charles is currently inhabiting in Erik's mind.

"Go on, go inside," Erik urges, giving him a little push.

By the time Erik has crawled inside and turned to the pillows to close the "door", Charles is regarding the small nest of pillows and blankets in the middle illuminated by the golden glow of the nightlight with a look of wonder in his eyes, seemingly awestruck. He even reaches out and pokes it tentatively, as if fearing it will vanish the second his eyes close.

"Like it?"

Charles whirls on him. "Who are you?" he demands.

Erik blinks as he crawls past Charles to the nest, rearranging it so that he can sit comfortably and lean against some of the pillows. "My name's Erik Lehnsherr," he says, bewildered, "I am fairly certain you know that already."

"You were in my head!" Charles accuses. "How did you do that?"

Erik nearly laughs this time. He knows what Charles is saying – or rather, what Charles isn't.

Charles is so used to comforting himself, to looking out for himself, for taking care of himself, that he isn't used to someone else taking the time to figure out what he wants or needs and do it for him. As such, he's constantly confused by Erik, and especially whenever Erik manages to somehow find a way for Charles to feel safe and happy. It's a little saddening, but Erik takes distinct pleasure whenever Charles's face lights up because of something new and lovely that _Erik_ has introduced him to.

"You're the telepath, not me, Charles."

"But you _must_ have been in my head; how else would you – "

"Know that you wanted to try something like this?" Erik finishes. He pats the spot next to him in the blanket-and-pillow nest, but Charles ignores him to crawl into his lap and curl up there instead, using the arm Erik automatically wraps around him as a pillow. He smirks at Charles's still awe-struck expression. "You have your tricks, I have mine. I'm like you, remember?" He levitates a little bit of metal, smiles as Charles reaches out and bats at it like he always does, knows that Charles understands Erik's dedication to mutants, like Erik is, like Charles is. He'd do almost anything for Charles.

"Just calm your mind," he adds after a moment, "before you wake up my parents."

Charles sobers immediately, but his smile remains, as does the rich, warm glow contentment rippling outwards from him. "Thank you," Charles whispers.

Another crack of thunder splits the steady _pitter-patter_ of rain, but this time Charles doesn't jump, and his thoughts are heavy with drowsiness and an echoing feeling of safety that makes Erik's heart clench.

Charles shouldn't feel only safe with Erik. He should feel safe with his mother, his father – God, with his _family_.

_You are my family_, Charles whispers, sleep-soft. He yawns. _Night._

And Erik can only stroke Charles's soft chocolate locks and watch those brilliant blue eyes close and whisper back, "You'll always be part of my family, _maus_," and feel an absurd sense of pride and rightness that it is those words that make Charles fall asleep, in the middle of a thunderstorm, with a small little smile on his face, curled close and warm in Erik's arms.

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><p>AN: Oh, yeah, and I forgot to ask earlier: Are there any particular firsts you guys want to see Charles undergo? I can't promise any recommendations will get put in, as it all depends how it fits into the timeline of the story and how I can squish it in, but I would like to get a feel for how much more Charles/Erik relationship development you might want, 'cause I'm starting to run out of ideas before we move into actual plot & angst.

Coming up next: Charles's first time swimming!


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: Charles's firsts: Swimming time!

Chapter dedicated to The Scarlet Rook and oo, who went out of their way to review all of my previously posted chapters in one go. Thanks!

Also, kudos to blanc-hiver, who spotted that Erik was saying canon!Charles lines. I assure you, that was on purpose, and shall continue . . . just 'cuz I feel like it. I bet you all can figure out which movie lines I use this chapter, and yes, they are a bit out of context, so imagine Erik is saying them with humor and the intent to tease, not the intent to . . . yeah, you'll see.

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Seven<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>At Charles's first proper meeting with Mister Shaw – the kind where parents and siblings, even foster ones, aren't allowed – Charles is very reluctant to let him go.<p>

When a bored receptionist calls Charles's name, the boy clutches tightly at Erik's arm.

"I'll wait right here," Erik promises, but Charles just treats him to that wide-eyed pleading stare that hints at real fear. It's like a punch in the gut, honestly; he's grown used to Charles's pouts, and he can ignore them, but even when Charles is trying to hide it, Erik can see the very real fear hidden behind the childish plea.

Erik hugs him and repeats the promise in his mind, but Charles only clings tighter.

"Touching as this is," says a cold, amused voice from above them, "you are needed by Doctor Shaw, telepath."

Erik doesn't recognize the voice, and in actuality, the only reason he doesn't jump is because Charles does, a little abortive shudder that tells Erik just how close Charles is to losing it completely. In any case, when he looks up, there's a young man in a fashionable grey suit who reminds him of Shaw in his younger days – creepy smile, hard eyes, white lab coat and shiny shoes. And he's wearing no metal, and the pulse of iron in his blood is faint and fading, like he's not really there, unlike the steady thrum of iron from Charles, clutched close in his arms. But the second he notices that, the pulse of iron grows strong and steady, and he decides he just wasn't paying attention to it.

The man smiles that creepy smile and leans down so that he's about Charles's eye level where Charles is perched in Erik's lap, which only makes Charles tremble and withdraw more, and Erik sighs.

Really. If these people signed up to work in the Department of Mutant Children and Families, which almost always deals with the abused children, you think that they would know etiquette to deal with abused children who react badly to tall figures who represent the people who once abused them. Instead, Erik, who has no training at all, seems to be doing better with Charles than any of these people.

This is why Erik is voting to just do away with the DMCF. It doesn't ever do much to help – just whisks kids away when they grow too dangerous.

_It's all right, _maus_, it's all right_, Erik soothes, alarmed by the rabbit-quick pulse of iron thrumming in Charles's veins. _He will not hurt you. And if he does . . ._ Erik cuts off the thought there, but he knows Charles can feel his determination, because Erik can't bear the thought of Charles hurt again.

Charles looks at him, and Erik feels the soft touch of his telepathy before Charles finally nods reluctantly and slides off his lap.

The man smiles and reaches for Charles's hand, but when the boy avoids him, he merely shrugs and calls out more names, and two young girls also stand up as well, moving so fluidly that they almost seem to be floating across the floor as they follow Charles, who keeps as far away from them as he can, and the man in the lab coat.

"Brilliant, isn't he?" says a man sitting across from Erik. He's older, middle-aged, and has the hardened air of a solider about him. "Just absolutely brilliant."

Erik eyes him warily. The only other child in the room is a quiet Spanish boy who is currently moving the curtains from across the room, and yet Erik doesn't think that the man is referring to Charles. In fact, he can't be; he should not be able to tell the gift Charles has, that's secret, and Charles hasn't done anything with his telepathy except read some thoughts around the room, like he can't help doing, and talk to Erik through the mind, which shouldn't be detectable.

"My son," the man clarifies, and offers a large palm. "The name's Wyngarde, William Wyngarde. And you?"

"Erik."

Wyngarde gives him a look, which Erik coolly returns. Charles is a minor and an abused one at that; if this man tries to dig through the archives for a Charles Xavier, he'd have a hard time finding out where Charles lived. But if he looks up Lehnsherr. . .

He doesn't know why, but there's something odd about this man.

"My son's an illusionist," Wyngarde continues, sounding a tad too much like Shaw when he's in his more eloquent rants about the amazing capabilities of their kind. "Can make you believe you're on fire if he wishes, or asleep and dreaming, or – or practically anything really." He smiles smugly, as if showing off his son's ability will elevate him above Erik. "And your son?"

Erik splutters. He is seventeen years old. He does _not_ look enough to be a father, much less to a six-year-old Charles.

Granted, he's always looked older than his age, and a Charles who is curled up in his lap looks much younger than his age – but _still_. Yeah. Erik's not seeing it.

"Ah, not yours then?" Wyngarde says. "If you're new to this business, let me give you some advice. Always keep a firm hand on the muties, all right? They need it. Train them young, so when they grow up, they'll never go off wild."

Erik's liking this guy less and less by the second.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, before he can respond with something highly scathing and possibly insulting, there's a burst at the edges of Erik's mind, rather like a psychic distress call flaring out and shooting out sparks off into the sky, calling out to everyone who can hear. The Spanish kid playing with the curtains stiffens too, looking up at the ceiling as if expecting to see fireworks, but Wyngarde and the receptionist don't even flinch while Erik finds himself on his feet with the metal humming around him, tensed for something that he doesn't understand.

Moments later, the door opens, and Charles tumbles through, winding his arms around Erik and shaking like a leaf. Erik crouches on the floor and lets Charles tuck himself into a hug as if he wants to disappear, and he really wishes that 1) Charles could be small enough for Erik to pick him up and carry him away and/or 2) to go and pummel that creepy-smile lab coat man.

Option #2 is winning out too.

Those two strange girls come out too, and they pause at the site and smile at Erik. God, what is it with the creepy smiles?

Then Charles suddenly stiffens in his embrace. He turns his head and glares at the twin girls. _They are not twin girls, Erik_, he says. There's a soft flicker of telepathy, and then Erik's vision seems to clear from the strange haze around the girls to reveal . . . a boy. He's younger than Charles, and looks about to wet his pants from the force of Charles's glare.

_I didn't even feel that._

Charles nods. _I know. I didn't realize he was manipulating you either, or I would have stopped it beforehand._ Charles's voice is soft, but there's a small silver of iron control there, and Erik knows Charles could have done much than whatever he's done.

Erik doesn't understand what's going on, but he doesn't like it. Not one bit. And this is the end of his patience.

"Let's go, _maus_," Erik says, standing. "We're done here."

The receptionist tries to stop them, but Erik glares and slams the door with a wave of his hand, and they are not followed. Charles merely clings close, his telepathy fluttering around him and Erik due to his anxiety, and Erik represses the urge to flinch at the remembrance that soon he'll be in college and Charles will be alone.

This thought hardens his resolve, and when Charles is in the car, he drives pointedly to the new destination.

Charles leans forward, and moments later, Erik feels his soft mental knock. He catches Charles's eye in the mirror and gives a slight nod for permission. Charles smiles and says, _Where are we going? Home is that way._

"Just a short side trip. You'll like it. And no cheating, please."

Charles pouts at that, so Erik deliberately turns his gaze away from the rearview mirror to collect himself. It's really his only defense, and not much of one, so he bites his tongue and counts random numbers in his head to distract himself. Except that just makes Charles pout even _more_, and god, it's a vicious cycle, and Erik is really, really glad when they finally get to their destination.

"A swimming pool?" Charles says, looking up and down as Erik pulls out towels and their swimming trunks. "I can't swim."

"It's easy. I can teach you."

After they've paid and gone in, Erik changes quickly and then goes out to put their stuff down on a bench outside the pool. It's not too hot out, but it's hot enough, and there aren't many people around, which is good. Charles comes out then, pale enough that his blue swimming trunks are a stark contrast, and Erik is forced to bite off laughter as he pops open the sunscreen and tries to get Charles to sit still long enough to apply it. It's not exactly easy; for all that Charles is a quiet child, it's more because he suppresses his natural exuberance than because he actually is a quiet child like Erik.

"_Maus_," Erik says eventually in exasperation, "if you don't sit still, I am going to pick you up and throw you in the pool."

Unfortunately, that just seems to be ignored. Erik sighs. His clout power as older brother is really getting to be nonexistent. He isn't sure if it's because Charles is unnaturally good at getting things his way, or just because Charles is growing up and getting more comfortable. Or because they both know Erik sucks at actual threats.

_You wouldn't actually do it_, Charles confirms.

Erik glares.

Ten minutes later, the situation is completely reversed. Erik is standing in the four feet water, arms crossed, watching with one eyebrow raised as Charles dips his toe in, retreats, dips his foot in, and then slowly, slowly, slowly begins his descent into the pool, clutching at the edge like it's a lifesaver. When Erik taps his fingers impatiently, trying not to laugh because Charles looks constipated, the boy glares at him.

"You're going to have to let go sometime," Erik observes.

Charles shakes his head and grips on tighter. He hasn't budged out of the two feet water level, which is slightly pathetic in Erik's opinion. Charles has never gone swimming before, but _still_.

_It's scary!_ Charles protests.

"Let me guess. You can't let go, you can't, because if you do, you'll drown." Erik grins at Charles's indignant expression. "Charles, really, you have to let go." He wades his way back to Charles, deliberately not touching the edge of the pool, and then slips underwater and swims the rest of the way back, pulling up just short of Charles. Then he stands abruptly, making water cascade everywhere, and Charles squeaks in surprise.

Erik feels his grin grow wider. "I know what this means to you," Erik says, trying not to laugh as he pats the edge of the pool, "but you're going to _die_."

"Of what?"

Erik gestures at the sun. "You're going to be baked like a lobster in this sun, and I refuse to be responsible. Now come on, just let it go. You have to let it go. Otherwise there's no fun in this."

Charles peers at the four-feet area Erik just came from with all the caution of an elderly asthmatic man who has just been told he has to do a five-hour military obstacle course. He seems as irrationally scared of the water as he is of thunderstorms, but this is ten times funnier, because Charles is scared just because, not because of anything his stepfamily did to him. Well, they did deprive him of a fun thing like swimming, but Erik doesn't mind being the one to introduce it to him. He didn't mind introducing cookies either, or pillow forts, or hugs. Simple things, really, but they make Charles smile, and that's reward enough.

"Come on, Charles. Do you really think I'd let you drown?"

Charles shakes his head, very, very slowly, and then reaches out with one hand to place it delicately in the hand Erik is offering. He allows Erik to – gradually– pull him away from the wall, and into three-feet water and then four-feet before he stops.

"I can't," he says. "Erik, I can't."

Erik stops immediately. He knows better than to test Charles's boundaries too far – and four feet is enough anyways. "All right, that's fine," he soothes, smoothing a hand through Charles's hair to ease away the panic on his face. "It's fine. Now come here, _maus_."

The second Charles is close enough, Erik ducks and scoops up Charles's legs, cradling him against his chest. The water provides enough buoyancy for Charles to float without too much trouble, but Erik holds on regardless, because Charles shrieks in surprise and clutches tightly at Erik's shoulders, shocked and scared at finding his feet swept out from under him.

"See?" Erik murmurs into Charles's hair, not doing anything but holding him and letting Charles realize he isn't drowning. "No problems. Just relax."

Charles swallows. "Don't let go."

Erik doesn't answer that. He knows Charles can read the unconscious message, the _why-would-I-ever-let-go-of-you_ that thrums steadily in Erik's heart. He just lets his calm flood his mind, until he isn't thinking of anything, really, except the sun warm against his back and the water cool around him and Charles cradled safely in his arms, floating in the water. Charles picks up on that calm, and then he begins to relax too, his fingers loosening as his head tips back to rest against Erik's shoulder and wet his hair. His face smoothes out, and he closes his eyes, and the tension leaves his body, until he's all but floating on his own and Erik's arms are merely preventing him from drifting off.

"Erik?"

"Hmm?"

_This is nice_, Charles says, rolling his head until it rests against Erik's shoulders. Then, very quietly: _Thank you._

Erik smiles against Charles's soft curls and hugs him. "You're welcome, _maus_."

* * *

><p>AN: I'll leave the question I posed at the end of the previous chapter open for answers until I post the next chapter, which is basically: readers, are there any other firsts you want to see Charles undergo? (Right now, I've got everything from the boys' first argument to someone getting sick to ice-skating.)

Coming up next: Birthday party! (as requested by Magpie09)


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: Charles's firsts: Birthday party! Charles turns eight! Chapter dedicated to Magpie09, as that was the request that prompted this chapter.

More quotes from the movie. Actually canon!verse, though, though of course in a lot lighter, fluffier way. Erik's words were just . . . too dramatic for an eight-year-old, so I couldn't twist the speakers.

For people I cannot PM:

To sjl = Riding a bike will come very soon, I promise, and you'll see the reason why in this chapter.

To Alana-kittychan = Yeah, toy and candy stores will probably come into the story eventually. We can get to see a hyper Charles again, it's really amusing for me – I don't know if it's amusing for you guys – to portray the one-day-will-be-Professor-of-genetics as a bouncing off the walls hyper kid.

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Eight<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>In no time at all, it seems, Erik turns around and realizes that Charles has been with them for nearly half a year. It barely seems like that, though; nowadays, Erik can't imagine life without Charles, can't imagine that he was ever an only child, can't imagine Charles as the silent, alone, frightened child that he was when he arrived.<p>

Sometimes, of course, Charles's upbringing shows – times where he grows quiet and still and clings to Erik tighter than an octopus – but for the most part, Charles is completely different.

Charles talks freely now, for one. He's still mostly a quiet child around others, but when he's with Erik, he almost _never_ shuts up. Especially if one gets him going on biology (which he reads books of in his spare time and _actually enjoys_) or chess (Erik learned from his father, and he's trying to teach Charles, but it's a little difficult with Charles's telepathy, of course). And Erik finds, quite unfortunately, that he doesn't mind Charles chattering away, even if it usually means that he zones out halfway through and Charles ends up pouting at him.

He's also a lot less likely to hesitate before asking for something, or taking things for granted. Before, it took an entire interrogation to discover that Charles wanted dessert – now the boy simply gets up and goes for it after asking for permission, which is a relief for Erik's parents.

But most importantly, it seems to finally have sunken into Charles's head that not only is it wrong for people to hit him whenever they feel like, but that no one will let someone do that.

The only person that Charles still shows some lingering discontent with is Shaw, and Erik doesn't like Shaw that much either so he doesn't really count him too much. Erik's not sure what it is about Shaw, but he just gives off a creepy air big enough that most of the mutants that gather in the waiting room for appointments tend to pray that Shaw isn't the one to usher them into the room. For Erik's part, he just tries to put his appointments near Charles's, or at least take him to and from meetings.

All in all, life is settling down to a normal rhythm for Erik.

So when he comes down, yawning, and finds ten bags of groceries sitting on the kitchen table, he is understandably confused enough to stop in his tracks. His mother only does such major shopping on holidays or celebrations, and they've already celebrated the end of the school year for Erik (only one more year to go, and then he'll be in college). His birthday is nowhere near, and neither are any of his parents, and –

Right then, his mother bustles back into the kitchen with pots and pans. "Ah, morning, _liebchen_," she says distractedly, and Erik allows her to kiss him. "What kind of cake does the _maus_ like?"

"_Maus_" has became the universal nickname for Charles, and although he does often pout when called it, Erik knows that in some ways Charles likes it, likes knowing that there's a place for him, likes it when they're curled up on the floor watching a movie and Erik slings an arm over his shoulder to guide him up the stairs and then tucks him into bed and says, always, "Goodnight, _maus_." Charles likes _belonging_.

And he most certainly does belong.

Still, when it's seven o'clock in the morning, even though Erik knows Charles better, he would wager, than anyone else in the world, it still throws him when he walks down the stairs and the first thing he gets asked is what cake Charles likes.

His mother gives him an impatient look. "_Today_, Erik, not next week."

"Chocolate," Erik answers, finally, blinking frantically and trying to wake up. "Um, why?"

His mother _looks_ at him.

Then Erik registers the faint humming presence of the thin metal candles and the match box, moved down from the top of the cabinets to the counter. They're small, but once he notices them, the metal's song joins the constant humming weaving into the world around him, and he can no longer ignore them – or what they indicate.

"Charles's?"

"Who else's, _liebchen_?" his mother retorts, seemingly exasperated, but her smile is fonder than anything else. "Now, run along, and do try and keep Charles out of the kitchen."

Erik gives a mock bow. "Of course, my lady," he says, and gets cuffed over the head for his troubles.

Truthfully, it won't be hard. Charles spends a great deal of time outside, if he isn't distracted by Erik's homework or a movie Erik's watching or Erik practicing his mutation, or – he spends a lot of time outside. Erik knows that he plays with some of the kids in their neighborhood, like Yuriko and Janos and Moira and a few others. Charles is, after all, naturally gregarious and makes friends easily. But that won't matter much anyways; usually, Erik goes out to practice his mutation on weekends, and Charles tends to tag along, making snide comments about lab rats and giggling.

So it's the work of all two minutes to get Charles out of the house for at least three hours. He also has time to pull his mother aside and whisper furiously in her ear, plotting about his own gift for Charles. It won't take long, but it will take some metal.

At the little alley in the back of their neighbor, which is only there because it's too small to build a house but too graffiti-covered to be part of the park right next to it, Charles parks himself on a box and watches with wide eyes as Erik – his metal-sense focused firmly on the ticking of his watch, waiting for the hands to move to the place that denotes three hours have passed – flings metal around and shapes it and basically does what he feels like with it.

Charles makes snide comments, as he always does, but not once does he mention it's his birthday.

_Typical Charles_, Erik thinks.

Charles blinks. "What's typical about me?"

Erik smiles, flattens the metal marbles he's been playing with, and then flips the flattened scraps at Charles, who promptly flails around so much that he falls off the box, laughing hysterically and clambering around frantically to get away. Erik continues the barrage, counting out loud for each time his marbles collide, and Charles finally gives up and dives for Erik's legs, an unstoppable ball of eight-year-old exuberance, too fast for Erik to stop before they're both tumbling to the ground.

" – and ten," Erik finishes, grinning at Charles, who's perched on him with a scowl firmly in place. "Got you."

Charles pokes him in the chest. "Yes, but _I'm_ the one in charge," he says grandly, and Erik feels the soft hum of Charles's telepathy increase, just a little, Charles flaunting and flexing his steadily increasing power.

Erik raises an eyebrow. "Would you really?"

Charles looks away, clambering off him and suddenly shy. He bites at his lip. "No."

"I know, _maus_." Erik ruffles his hair, still smiling, before he stands and pulls Charles up as well. Their three-hour exile is over, and Erik's mother should be done by now. It can't take too much longer, surely; she's been planning this for over a week, because his mother is organized like that and definitely wouldn't pass up the opportunity to spoil Charles rotten the way she did not spoil Erik.

"It's time to go home already?"

Erik shrugs. "She said she wanted us to try something. You know Mama."

Charles smiles a little at that. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I do."

The house is eerily quiet as they walk up the porch and reach the door, and that means Erik has a very good idea of what is going to happen. Knowing Charles as he does, he stops short of flicking back the lock and instead tells Charles, "I'm just going to warn you ahead of time that this was not my fault. Or my idea."

Charles stares blankly at him as Erik opens the door and ushers him inside. "What do you – "

"_Surprise!_"

Charles honest-to-god _shrieks_, like Sean used to before he manifested and broke glass, and leaps backwards just in time to collide with Erik and send them smacking into the wall. At least a dozen people pop out of seemingly nowhere, showering Charles with confetti and sparkles and cheering. Charles looks completely surprised, and also completely confused.

Erik's mother steps forward and hugs him. "Happy birthday, Charles," she says formally.

And then the dam breaks.

The next few hours pass in a daze: calming Charles down, showing him the cake (Charles's eyes go wide and startled), having him blow out the candles, then everyone falls on the cake (Erik keeps an eye on how much cake Charles eats, mentally calculating the sugar intake, and sighs as he realizes he'll probably be up late, because a hyper Charles has a lot less control) before Charles is allowed to unwrap the presents (when he sees the pile, which is taller than him, his eyes grow wide again and Erik gets a pulse of _surprise-happy-PRESENTS_ and he's forced to conceal his grin). Finally, though, they are released into the backyard, where Charles and his friends start an impromptu game of . . . not quite catch, but rather more like who-can-run-the-longest-without-losing-the-ball while their parents sit on the patio and chat.

Erik sprawls out on the grass, feeling in his mind for the metal and gears his father stepped out to get, curving his fingers into the grass with his eyes closed as he slowly shapes it into his mental picture. It won't take long to get it together; he can feel every piece of it and all that's left is to assemble it.

He's just adding some embellishments when a squealing Charles barrels into him.

"What the – "

Charles clings on anyways as Erik lurches half to his feet, half-breathless with laughter. "This is all your fault!" he accuses as his friends halt around them in a neat half-circle, hands outstretched and all of them giggling.

"They're _your_ friends, so how is it _my_ fault?" Erik retorts instinctively.

"You started it!"

"I did? Did what?"

Charles sticks his tongue out and sends Erik the mental sensation of getting tickled relentless, along with the sensation of the soft rug underfoot and the television blaring behind and wriggling and failing to get away. The first time Erik tickled him then, when he tackled Charles to the ground in the living room and tickled him until he was incoherent with laughter, squirming breathless under Erik and batting at his hands, tears streaming from his eyes. It was the first time he'd heard Charles laugh so much in one go, and Charles had hiccupped for minutes afterward, holding his stomach and coughing out words in starts and stops, filled with wonder at how you could be so happy that you'd laugh so much you couldn't talk. Erik had, eventually, taken pity on him and let Charles go wandering through his mind until finally he'd calmed down.

"Oh. That." Erik shrugs, pushing Charles away and sitting back down. "You deserved it."

Charles glares, but his friends laugh and call for Charles to come back, warning him that he's it and that they're coming to get him.

"Still your fault," Charles insists adamantly.

"They're your friends, not mine."

"_Your_ fault."

And with that, Charles tackles him. Erik lets Charles's momentum take them both down, although he does roll with it a tad much, and because he is stronger than Charles, the tackle ends with Charles pouting and pinned beneath him, trying in vain to tickle him back in revenge.

Still, he has put up a fight.

Erik says, "Us turning on each other, it's what they want. I tried to warn you, Charles," he says, and mentally goes over when he'd rolled his eyes as Charles had tried to plead with Erik to join in their games, begging off because Charles's friends are hyper and mischievous and devious little things. "I want you by my side. We're brothers, you and I. It should be the both of us, protecting each other," he adds thoughtfully. "Really, we want the same thing." _We can take them on_, he suggests.

Charles laughs a little, eyes sparkling sapphire under the glare of the sun. "Oh, my friend. I'm sorry, but we do not."

Then he shouts, "Get him!"

Erik is subsequently piled on by the rest of the kids and only the grace of some unholy power keeps him from accidentally crushing Charles underneath, and Erik thanks every deity he knows that he isn't half as ticklish as Charles.

"Children, enough!" Erik's mother calls, half-choking on her own words.

One by one, they reluctantly release Erik, sliding to the ground and leaving him sprawled out on the grass, breathless and slightly dazed and murderously cursing every single little kid within a ten mile radius, while they drag Charles inside to go present unwrapping. After a long moment, his father takes pity on him and helps him up the stairs to retrieve his gift to Charles.

When they come back down, Charles has torn through half of his presents, and is sitting in a little nest of brightly colored wrapping paper and presents scattered neatly behind him. Half of the kids look elated – ah, Charles must have already turned his effusive thanks on them – and half are leaning forward, watching as Charles slowly dissects the pile of presents that is shrinking and shrinking. Erik stands by his parents, watching as Charles admires his gifts and thanks the givers, who either flush or grin right back.

After the last gift, Erik clears his throat. _Charles, a moment?_

Charles sends curiosity, but doesn't stand; apparently he's a bit preoccupied with the new chess set Erik's father gave him, toying absently with the black and white king in his hand.

"One last gift," Erik says out loud, and he grins when Charles's eyes snap to him, followed by every other little kid in the room. "It's outside, Charles."

They all tumble outside, and then they block the doorway as shock rings clear and strong in Erik's head.

_Erik . . ._

Charles has stopped dead in the driveway, staring at Erik's present with large eyes and an open mouth, frozen mid-stride as though someone put a Charles-shaped force-field around him and he can't move. He looks shocked, as if he's about to topple over, and Erik pushes past the other kids to reach him and reassure himself that Charles is okay.

"_Maus_?" he says, touching Charles's shoulder.

"It's a bicycle," Charles says, sounding dazed, eyes still fixed on the object.

Erik glances at it. He'd floated it down to the driveway while Charles was occupied earlier, and he'd shaped it with the metal his parents had gotten it, attaching the wheels and handles and seat last. He's smoothed it out as much as possible, no sharp edges, and played with it until the metal was as it is now, shiny and silver and beautiful. He couldn't create the non-metal bits, but he chose the best he could. He's not sure, of course, if Charles knows how to ride a bike, but if Charles doesn't – well, the bike is metal.

_I always wanted a bike_, Charles says suddenly. _My stepbrother used to have one. He never let me use it._

"Well, this one is yours," Erik says quietly, and squeezes his shoulder.

Charles smiles, leaning against him as content laps at the edges of Erik's mind. _Will you teach me how?_

_Of course, _maus_, of course._

* * *

><p>AN: Not sure if you're supposed to still have training wheels on when you're eight, but, as people have pointed out, the bike is metal, so Charles can't really fall over and so doesn't really need training wheels. I'll just hide behind that excuse for now.

Coming up next: Charles's first day of school! (by request of CadetEyes and an anon from the kink_meme)


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: Charles's firsts: First day of school! (Finally, I meant to be here like five chapters ago. . .)

Chapter dedicated to CadetEyes, who requested first day of school, and blanc-hiver, who requested Charles meeting Raven (there will be more Raven coming eventually, I promise).

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><p>Also . . . at this rate I will never get Charles to teenager years, so please just pretend that a whole year has passed and Charles is nine right now.<p>

To people I can't PM:

To allie101 = Thanks! I know, I'm a sucker for protective!Erik, hence why this story even exists. Hmm. Lost puppy. Maybe. Someone already sorta requested a pet story, so it may be smooshed together with that.

To Alana-kittychan = Thanks!

To Alicia = Thank you!

To sjl = You're very welcome, I was glad to write it, otherwise I would have just jumped to 7-year-old Charles to nine-year-old Charles and forgotten about Erik giving Charles a present.

To The Scarlet Rook = Hmm. Yep. My muse apparently enjoys me throwing in creepy possible villains. IDK. Do you know, you're the only person who picked up on the lack of metal bit? Kudos to you – that will indeed become very important sometime in the distant future (read=legit plot), and I promise more explanation then will be forthcoming.

To Magpie09 = You're welcome for the dedication, but thank you for the idea, I loved writing it.

To anon = Thanks! I hope to keep delivering on the cuteness.

To Anime Fan 4 life = Here you go, the next update – my apologies for the long wait!

* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter Nine<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>Between comforting Charles after meetings with Shaw and Erik's own personal quest to make Charles smile and laugh as much as possible, Charles is rapidly catching up to the kind of normal life – well, as normal as a mutant can have, anyways – Erik might have envisioned for him. He's safe, he's happy, he's fed, he's experiencing everything a normal eight-going-on-nine year old should experience.<p>

There's just one thing Erik's not quite sure how to introduce to Charles.

School.

Every mutant has to go to school sometime, because it serves the double purpose of ensuring that they are educated, just like every other kid, and ensuring that they won't run off and cause mass chaos due to their mutation. In that light, no mutant has been homeschooled since the Bill of Rights for _Homo sapien superior_ was passed; it was one of the few concessions the mutant leaders actually made those years ago. You go to mutant school for a while, and then you get transferred to an integrated school, and that's pretty much the end of it. Charles objectively knows this – every mutant does.

But Charles has never been to school at all.

Erik knows that Charles's telepathy manifested at birth, meaning that the doctors derided him as delicate and needing special care. In the end, someway or another, the doctors had eventually realized Charles was a mutant, even though Charles's mother had refused the blood test, and that had only made her hide Charles away even more.

The most interaction Charles has had with anyone near his age is when Cain beat him up.

However, Charles cannot remain out of school forever. He's nine years old, and most mutants end up in normal school by eleven or twelve. It can't be avoided.

Shaw has insisted Charles is ready to be integrated. Erik doesn't believe him.

But they have no choice. Either they bring Charles to school, or they risk admitting that Charles simply is too powerful to be integrated at this point, and in that case, Charles would be taken away to the Mutant Care Clinics, where he'd be kept isolated until he learned to control his power or they would simply solder a suppression collar around his throat and _force_ him to control his powers that way. It's something that's happened before; one of Erik's friends, Azazel, was dragged to an MCC because he kept teleporting out of school and choosing instead to hang out with members of the Brotherhood of Mutants, a lobbying group/gang that often called for the expansion of mutant rights. The government, scared of his abilities, had tranquilized him a week later.

Erik hasn't seen Azazel since.

He refuses to let that happen to Charles. It's one thing to suppress a teleporter with a collar. It's quite another to suppress, say, a telepath.

He's heard stories of telepaths who've been put in nullifying or suppression collars. There's a reason it is a law that telepaths can only be tranquilized or given suppression collars even if they're caught doing mass murder before they stand trial and are convicted, because otherwise they're as good as dead as if you had put a bullet in them. Shutting off a telepath with a nullifying collar often kills the telepath, no matter what power level they are.

So Erik grits his teeth and doesn't protest, although he'd love to.

He does insist on bringing Charles himself.

That morning, his mother cooks a particularly large breakfast with everything Charles likes, and she stuffs his backpack with snacks and school materials, fussing over his uniform and hair. He indulges her for a while and the good mood lasts most of the car ride with Charles chattering away, but eventually the strain gets to Charles, and he sits quiet and still in his chair, fingers twisted tight in his lap, eyes downcast.

When they get to the school, the tension is so thick Erik wishes he could just reach out to the school and rip it apart.

He reaches for Charles and puts his hand over Charles's. "If you don't want to, we can try again later," he offers. Shaw hasn't put a time yet, and Erik can play just as dirty as he can. They can probably get away with a few more days, perhaps even a year if they really want to

But Charles takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "No. I can do it." _I think._

Erik squeezes his hand as they get out and walk towards the main office. _You can do it, Charles._

When they enter the main office, the secretary – typical pretty human with blonde hair and a curve-hugging dress and wide bland blue eyes – smiles at Erik. "How can I help you?" she says cheerily.

Erik hands over the folder of registration papers – name, address, health form, education records from Charles's dozens of tutors, and more – and then hands over Charles's government ID. All mutants have one, inscribed with their name, birth date, current address, and a picture updated annually with a big red M stamped across it, and under that Charles's power and current level. Charles, like always, looks adorably confused in his picture (although that could be because it was the morning after his ninth birthday and Erik had been tasked with waking him up, and he had done so by dumping a bucket of cold water on Charles's head). Erik had been plagued with mysterious little headaches for hours afterwards.

The woman's smile falters when her eyes read "telepathy".

Charles flinches and draws closer, and Erik gets a quick flash of _godtelepath-ishereadingmymindnow-ohgodhemustbe-he'satelepath-gammalevelwhatisgammalevel-_

The woman stands, and the thought cuts off. "I'll just, um, go get Mr. Essex then," she stutters.

Charles waits a very long moment, and then he slumps in his chair and crosses his arms. "She doesn't like me."

Erik sits next to him. "Some humans don't."

"Why not?"

Erik flicks his fingers and withdraws all of Charles's change, drawing out an indignant, "Hey!" from Charles. He makes them float around Charles's head, much as he did the first day, just out of reach, so Charles seems like some bizarre brown-haired, pale-skinned sun to the flashing copper and silver coins.

"Because we can do things they can't," is all Erik says.

There's a gasp from behind them, and Erik turns to see that the secretary is back, along with a tall, broad-shouldered man who stance screams casual, but it is so feigned that it makes the hair stand up on the back of Erik's neck. This man is dangerous, Erik can tell, and without even thinking about it, he stands, so that the man's attention falls to him and away from Charles. The man offers them a small smile, and then takes the folders from the secretary's frozen hands, saying, "Run along, my dear; I think I can handle this."

"Um, yes, sir," she stutters, and vanishes like wolves are after her.

"So, you're a telepath," the man says. "Welcome to our school, Charles Xavier. My name is Nathaniel Essex, and I am the current principal. And this is . . ."

"Erik Lehnsherr."

"Nice to meet you."

Mr. Essex fishes out a pile of papers, and Erik intercepts them and rifles through them, passing along the class schedule and school map to Charles. It seems a bit . . . odd, but when Erik questions it, the principal merely shrugs and says, "They'll have to get used to it sometime, Mr. Lehnsherr, and what better way than this? We _are_ better than humans."

Erik raises an eyebrow. He had thought Essex was a human. "We, sir?"

Essex grins. "I'm a metahuman, Lehnsherr."

Metahumans are rare, almost as rare as epsilon-level mutants. They are human – or were, anyways – and have taken to injecting themselves with the strengthening serum that mutants sometimes use to attempt to trigger secondary mutations or gain more power in hopes of gaining more control. That is why they are so rare; the strengthening serums are tightly controlled, in hopes of preventing mutants from becoming _too_ powerful and outnumbering the humans. But very few mutants choose to take it, because sometimes the mutations triggered did not manifest before for a very good reason, and more than a few have ended up dead or catatonic for it. Humans can try, but it works on only a few to enhance their natural capabilities – strength, sight, hearing, and so on.

Those humans are called metahumans, and they are currently caught in between mutants and humans, neither quite one or the other, and no one really knows what to do with them yet.

"Accelerated healing," Essex continues. "It comes in handy, sometimes, when dealing with a bunch of rowdy teens. Now then. This has been lovely, but I must run. I'll be keeping an eye on you, Charles Xavier."

Then Essex sticks his head out and bellows at the stream of fast-moving people, "Darkhölme!"

A young blonde girl who is perhaps one or two years younger than Charles materializes and wades her way to the office, clutching a shoulder bag and looking so innocently confused that Erik immediately understands why his mother always feels the urge to give him That Look and ask him to confess what he did wrong before she finds out. And God, but he admires her gut already.

"Darkhölme, your job," Essex says dismissively, jerking his head at Charles. "No slip-ups or you'll be in detention for two weeks. _Behave_."

When the door closes, Darkhölme does two things simultaneously, or so close after each other that it seems pretty darn simultaneous: she sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry at Essex's retreating figure, and then she whirls around and smiles a huge smile at Charles.

Who looks like a deer caught in headlights.

Figures.

_Oh, shut up, Erik_, Charles whines.

"So, what can _you_ do, then?" Darkhölme says eagerly, stomping over as Charles scrambles backwards, eyes wide. "You _are_ a mutant, right? Sinister only comes in personally for mutants, you _have_ to be, what can you do – never mind, look at what I can do!"

Darkhölme stretches her arms out and does a little ballerina's twirl, all unnatural grace and poise and flexibility, with her foot pointed and against her other leg's thigh, and as she spins, blue ripples down her arms and then her torso and then her legs, leaving her blue-scaled and cherry-red haired and gold-eyed and _glorious_, her real skin beautiful against the bland khaki of her school uniform.

A shapeshifter. A real live _shapeshifter_.

Erik's never seen one before. They're among the rarest of mutations, and almost always shrouded in mystery, as they tend to be snapped up to work for the CIA and such. Usually, no one ever knows they were a shapeshifter until they, regrettably, die in their line of work and are shipped home with all the fanfare.

"Come on, _tell_!" Darkhölme insists.

Charles swallows, eyes darting between Darkhölme and the door, and Erik deliberately flicks his fingers and locks it, causing Charles to glare at him.

"Telepath," Charles mumbles finally.

"Really? Awesome! Um . . . tell me what I had for breakfast this morning!"

Charles blinks at her. " . . . Cereal?" he says hesitantly.

Darkhölme beams like it's the coolest thing in the world. "Oh, gosh, sorry," she says suddenly, and within an eye's blink, she's blonde and fair-skinned again, neat and irritatingly _human_. "What's your name?"

Charles goggles at her. "You aren't . . . scared of me?"

Raven smiles at him, her stance softening. "I always believed I couldn't be the only one in the school. The only person in the school who was . . . different. And here you are. Raven Darkhölme."

Charles gives her a hesitant smile back. "Charles."

The bell clangs, vicious and shrill, and Charles jumps as Raven grabs her book bag and opens the door. "Come on, come on, I'll show you around," she chatters at him, grabbing his arm and tugging him out the door, ignoring his spluttered protests. She's strong, surprisingly so, and when Erik finally starts after them, they are halfway down the hall, with Raven literally _dragging_ a stumbling Charles along.

They vanish just in time for Erik to hear Raven exclaim, "We're going to be just like brother and sister!"

Erik doesn't stop laughing at Charles's face when Raven says that for five minutes, and on the way home, he has to use his mutation to drive because he keeps having uncontrollable and random laughing fits. His mother raises an eyebrow at him after the fourth laughing fit she witnesses in which Erik nearly breaks all the plates as they bend and twist and groan as the metal flexes while he attempts to control his laughing, but she finally just sighs and says, "Oh, just go pick the boy up from school already, Erik; clearly your wits are addled when he's not around."

But she smiles as she says so, and Erik knows she understands.

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><p>AN: Hmm. I think this was a bit more schizophrenic than I intended. Anyways . . . Yes, Raven has a completely different attitude about telepathy here, but I'm going with the idea that she might be too young to fully understand the full extent of telepathy, and in any case, Charles isn't really as powerful as he was in First Class when they were snipping at each other over "you promised to never read my mind", so . . . yeah. That's my excuse. We might see more of a telepathy-fearing Raven later on. Maybe not. Depends on how much I develop the two and where they wander off from there. (Of course, this entire damn story's wandered away from me at this point, so, no promises.)

Coming up next = Charles's first day of school continued! (will be a faster update, I promise)


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: Charles's firsts = First day of school (cont.) Bit less serious this time, and we encounter a bit more of insecure!Charles. So thanks to CadetEyes and an anon from the kink _meme for the request!

I am lazy! Therefore, I have chosen to use the Greek alphabet to reference the power levels for the mutants. So level 1s are alpha-level, level 2s are beta-level, level 3s are gamma-level, level 4 are delta-level, and level 5s are epsilon-level. (Note: omega mutants, the most powerful of their genetic . . . power, mutation, whatever do not have to level 5. They just have to be the most powerful.) There seems to be some disagreement as to what levels some of these mutants actually are, so I'm using my own head!canon, which is, generally, that to be level 5, your power has to be unconscious as well as conscious (Read = Jean/Phoenix or Charles), so Charles is a level 5 and an omega, Erik is level 4 but also an omega because I assume his daughter wasn't as powerful as him (and she won't be coming into this story anyways, so . . . at least I don't think she will. I think I've had enough problems conveying child!Charles without adding to it.)

Warning: Some hints to future plot that are mainly angsty – sorry.

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><p>To people I can't PM:<p>

To allie101 = Yeah, there might be a bit more young!Raven and young!Charles, depending on where I go from here.

To Calixte = Thanks! I usually don't do so well with writing Erik, as I tend to sympathize with Charles, and so, of course, I then went and wrote a story almost entirely from Erik's POV. Glad he comes across okay, though.

To Diana = Thanks for the review! Although you might be waiting a while – okay, a LONG while – to find out how it ends. I swear I'll make it happy, because the beach divorce makes me cry every time, but we are so long from that end it's not even remotely funny.

To Lori = Um, yeah, sorry for the long update, this chapter turned out to be trickier than I thought it was going to be. Hope this one is still up to caliber with the rest!

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Ten<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>By the time Charles's school is finally out – right now it's not really school time, it's more like orientation for new students and summer school for the rest – Erik is itching to go pick Charles up. He thinks Charles might be okay with Raven, the shapeshifter, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to go see for himself that Charles is all right.<p>

Also, it's strangely . . . _strange_, to not have Charles within a few minutes reach or, even worse, within telepathic range. Erik realizes then that he's grown used to Charles flitting in and out of his mind, broadcasting when he feels like it, and . . .

He doesn't mind. At all, actually.

(This is about the time that Erik gets his first inkling that Charles will always be different, will always be the exception, will always be able to get away with anything and everything that Erik would never blink at chasing someone else after – like reading his mind. However, it doesn't actually sink in until years and years later, when the first thing Erik wakes up to, head heavy with the sweet fog of drugs and plastic cuffs tying his wrists and ankles to the bed and duct tape securing the IVs to his arms, is the touch of Charles's mind against his own, and the first thing he feels is _relief_ rather than outrage or fear, even though he's just spent three hours being mentally torn apart by that damn illusionist until Charles had found them and gone absolutely berserk in that creepy way that only epsilon-level mutants can go.)

Erik arrives early, and although the secretary tries to charm him, Erik easily realizes that he won't be allowed any further until the school is officially out, so he shrugs and leaves and waits outside the door, leaning against the wall and wondering why Charles hasn't reached out to him yet.

He keeps track of the time by the movement of the metal hands in the old-fashioned clock in the secretary's office, a subtle _tick-tick-tick_ that comforts him.

Three hundred ticks – or about five minutes later – he feels the knock against his mental shields, but it's really less of a knock and more a warm cat twining around his ankles and asking for attention, nuzzling and rubbing and impatient. Generally, Charles likes to advertise his presence before he enters someone's mind, even though Erik's already given him standing permission to come in whenever he likes until Erik tells him clearly to get out – and actually _means_ it.

So far, that has never happened.

Charles slips smoothly in. _You're early_, he says.

Erik leans his head against the wall, tipping his face towards the sun to enjoy the warmth of its beams on his face. _Yes, I am_, he agrees easily. _Any problems with it?_

Sunshine and a purr from the cat – no, Charles seems perfectly fine with it. _Have you come to save me?_

_Don't be so dramatic, Charles._

_I'm perfectly serious. I'm dying and you have to rescue me. This is a horrendous institution fit only for most uneducated dregs of society and – _

_You . . . need to stop reading the newspaper_, Erik cuts in, rubbing at his forehead. Charles is a bit weird, sometimes, but no more so than when he uses vocabulary that is far beyond his age level. Erik's used to it, but . . . sometimes it still catches him off guard.

The cat lays its ears back. _Not important right now, Erik._

Metal vibrates all over the school, clanging and smashing like a bell slamming into the side of Erik's head, and he hastily releases his hold on the metal as he hears the bell shrill through the school corridors, signaling the end of the day. Metal sings to him as people go for lockers and open doors and start pouring from the school.

Minutes later, he spots Charles, moving out the door and completely oblivious to Erik's presence behind him. He seems determined to leave the school grounds as quickly as possible, so determined that everything is focused on that to the point where he can't even sense Erik with his telepathy, which is a surprise – these days, Charles is more often alongside Erik's mind than not. And it speaks volumes to how uncomfortable Charles is, that he's keeping his telepathy so wrapped up and shielded.

That does not bode well.

Erik pushes off the wall and starts toward him, clearing his throat. Charles freezes mid-step, and Erik teases, "From what I know about you, I'm surprised you managed to stay this long."

Charles swings around, and it's just as bad that he doesn't react by teasing back, but instead by snapping harshly, "What do you know about me?"

Erik feels his eyebrow go up his forehead. Charles has _never_ lashed out before – partly because he is generally scared of making people mad at him, and partly because he is a sweet-minded child and tends to yield rather than start fights. That being said, Erik still knows Charles pretty well: he knows Charles hates feeling like a burden; he knows that Charles still forgets that there are people around him to care for him when he gets into a scrape; he knows that Charles is still scared of the dark and deep water and pain; he knows that Charles is most certainly not a morning person; he knows that Charles is still awestruck by the freedom to do as he likes and watch movies and snack on chips and eat candy; he knows that Charles has come to call the Lehnsherr house _home_; he knows Charles is wary of Shaw and the DMCF in general; he knows that for Charles reading minds is instinctual but manipulating them is end-of-the-world horrifying; and he knows that Charles associates Erik's mother with warmth and Erik's father with strength and Erik with some tangle of _warm-safe-love_. He knows _Charles_.

"I would say," Erik answers, "everything."

Charles's scowl deepens. "Then you'll know to stay out of my business."

Anger rolls into Erik's mind, lashing out with an icy sharpness like hail, but it is more than anger, Erik realizes. It is embarrassment and confusion and frustration and insecurity, all balled up and expanding until Charles is just as angry at himself as he is at anyone else. It is interesting that Charles reacts by lashing out, but then again –

Erik reaches forward and drags Charles closer, ignoring Charles's surprise, until he's close enough to hug. _I'm sorry, Charles. But I know what the Markos did to you,_ he murmurs, _and it wasn't your fault. Will you let me help you?_

Charles twists in his grip, almost like trying to get free, but his mental voice is small and shy, cracking along the edges along with his resolve. _I don't need your help._

Erik laughs and hugs him tighter. _Liar_, he says fondly, and he feels Charles's anger melt away, leaving his confusion and uncertainty behind. _Don't kid yourself, _maus_, you need my help, just like you did that night._ Erik brings up his own memories of Charles tucked close, scared and shaking after the thunderstorm.

Charles sighs and the walls come crumbling down. _I don't like this place. It's loud, everyone just keeps _talking_. And everyone looks at me funny._ His fingers tighten in Erik's shirt. _Don't make me come back here._

"Don't be like that, Charles. You'll learn to deal with it." Erik runs his fingers through Charles's hair, and then rubs Charles's back, holding him close in the way he knows reminds Charles of safety and the familial affection he never had. "You're not the only mutant here. And Raven – wasn't she nice to get to know?"

_Yes, but . . . I don't like it here. Don't make me come back._

And as much as Erik would like to simply give in to Charles's request, as much as he agrees that these schools are horrible and tend to do more harm than good for some mutants who are shy and abused like Charles – he can't. Charles needs to get an education. Erik can't deny him that kind of opportunity. Charles is smart, but he's young and Erik's off to college soon – he cannot rely on Erik forever. He needs friends. He needs school.

He needs to grow apart from Erik.

The thought makes Erik feel like he's been punched in the gut and something is falling out of his heart to be lost in a black hole, but he pushes past it, for now. He doesn't want to be replaced, but he might very well be.

(He'll have that same the-world-is-ending feeling later, years and years later, when Emma walks into the plastic cell – two days after Charles was dragged out kicking and screaming and crying by the guards while Erik could only stand there helplessly with a ceramic gun pointed at his head to prevent him from interfering, even as he'd shouted at them to stop hurting Charles – and silently hands him the document that bears Charles's shaky signature and an order for him to never see, speak to, e-mail, fax, telephone or contact Charles in any way ever again, by request of Charles himself and his new foster guardian, Sebastian Shaw, and Erik collapses to the floor and wants to die and Emma will have to actually _slap_ him, hard, in diamond form before he finally snaps out of it, and after that he won't be able to think or speak about Charles – literally will _not_ be able to – for nearly a decade, until one day he opens his apartment door and Charles flings himself at him, eyes red from crying and still sniffling and shaking, and all Erik can do is hold him tight and close and memorize him anew.)

"It isn't just me you would be walking away from here, Charles," Erik says finally. "Here you have the chance to be part of something much bigger than yourself."

Silently, he adds, _Something bigger than you and me, _maus_, something bigger than our family._

When Charles goes still, he releases him and looks at him seriously. Some day Charles will have to realize that the world is a bigger place than the Lehnsherr household and the abuse he endured at Marko's hands. Erik would prefer it to be now rather than later, when he isn't around to catch Charles when, inevitably, he reaches out and gets burned, just like everyone is at first before they learn how friendship works, because he doesn't want Charles to be a hermit. He wants Charles safe, and happy, and to have friends, but that'll never happen if he doesn't give Charles the push he needs to realize that.

"I won't stop you leaving the school, _maus_. I could," he reminds Charles, because he so easily could, because in the end Charles is just a little boy while Erik is nearly fully grown, "but I won't."

He releases Charles completely.

"Marko has friends," he continues, turning to walk away, knowing Charles will hear him no matter what. "You could do with some more too."

When it's over, he feels a pang of guilt at pushing Charles, but at the same time, he knows he had to. _Roses can't bloom in the dark_, he reminds himself. Charles will never grow under his shadow, much as he wishes he could wrap Charles up in his arms and never let him out of his sight and, most importantly, never be hurt.

He sits on the car bumper and waits.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Charles finally trudges into view, dragging his backpack behind him, looking caught between misery and determination, and Erik sits upright and waits.

After a long moment, Charles bites his lip and says, "How long did it take you to get used to it?"

Erik smiles at him. "A few months. But better than most, because my mutation was invisible, like yours. And there were others here."

"Why is it so hard?"

"Sometimes the right thing is never the easy thing."

Finally, Charles sighs. _I guess I'll keep trying. For now._ Erik can feel the silent, unspoken message that Charles deliberately doesn't add, and it touches him to know that Charles also thinks: _For you._

Erik hugs him. _Good for you, then._

Erik later regrets that he convinced Charles to stay when, two weeks later, Charles comes running out with . . . a bunny in his hands.

"Charles, what the heck?"

"It's just for a few days," Charles pleads, frantically trying to contain the bunny in his arms instead of doing the smart thing and putting it back in the cage provided that Erik more than approves of, because it's metal and will keep that bouncing ball of fur far away from him. "Please, Erik, I've never had a pet before, please!"

"I hate you," Erik says that night, when the bunny escapes and Erik spends an hour chasing it around in the garden.

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><p>AN: And wow, this chapter really turned out a lot more serious than I meant it to. . . . . . . . . . Fluff next time! (And no, that is not the last you've seen of Charles's pet bunny.)

So, coming up next = Charles's first time with a pet! (as requested by k-shee)

And in line with that, I've never had a pet bunny, so, um, some advice from people who've had bunnies on how this works so I won't be making it all up off the top of my head and screw it up completely?


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: Um . . . hi? Yes, writer's block sucks, as I can attest to. . . . . Anyways, now that the long wait's over, I'm starting my Final Finale today. It's something I've been doing for a while, in the SW and HP and LOTR fandoms, where basically, for my midterms and finals, I post a chapter every day for my fics. Obviously, this story wasn't part of my Midterm Marathon because it hadn't existed then. But – this is Day 1 of my Final Finale (no, we aren't near the end at all, it's just that the name fits, so I use it), and Charles's firsts = Pet bunnies! (Well, one bunny, but still.) And more grumpy!Erik for k-shee. Chapter dedicated to k-shee, too, as that was the request for pets.

Warning: I do not have pets either. Well, unless you count my fish. But fish are not bunnies. So I'm taking massive liberties here. Sorry in advance for my probably ten thousand inaccuracies!

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><p>To people I can't PM:<p>

To Alicia = Yeah, the last chapter wasn't meant to be so angsty, but my muse took off with it, so it ended up so. Bit more fluff this time around. As to why Shaw gets custody . . . you shall see! Eventually. Long way before we hit the angst speed bump.

To sjl = Thanks for the praise! And the advice about bunnies.

To xXNeonCiaraRulesXx = Thanks! I made my penname up when I was . . . a lot younger, so I just decided to use it because I couldn't think of anything else, really.

To Lori = Thanks! I was little worried, because it came out so serious, but I'm glad you liked the chapter anyways.

To Magpie09 = Yes, very angsty. . . My muse likes angst, what can I say? Less angst this time around, though.

To Xzavix = Thanks for the praise! I was a little worried, when I started writing, that I would make Charles way too mature or immature; I'm glad he comes off somewhere in between, which is where I was aiming for.

To DreamingSkies = Thanks! And, yeah, I'm not really looking forward to the angsty bits I was hinting at either. But – my muse demands angst, so I'll write it. But relax, I won't write for a long, long, long time, trust me. Charles has to grow up a bit more first.

To Karla and Kiera = Well . . . here's the update. Sorry for the super long wait.

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Eleven<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>That damn bunny is <em>really<em> starting to get on Erik's nerves.

Charles, for one, insists on letting it out of its cage as much as possible. Yet the bunny merely runs all over, leaves pellets _everywhere_, and on top of that, absolutely _refuses_ to be held for more than a few seconds by Charles, which in turns causes Charles to stare at it with a wounded puppy expression that tugs at Erik's heart more than he thinks it should.

At any rate, he thinks it's highly admirable that he's not already filleted the furball already.

(And he is _not_ thinking about the only reason why is because Charles already expressly forbade him to, and he doesn't want that wounded puppy expression directed at him, either.)

His mother and father seem to find it hopelessly amusing to watch Charles chasing after the bunny, pleading to let him hold it and pet it, and in turn, to watch Erik watching Charles, especially when Charles drafts _him_ into chasing the bunny, because he's faster and his mutation is much more suitable to cornering balls of fluff than Charles's is. And of course, because Charles knows he'd never refuse.

Charles is right, of course. There's very little he can refuse Charles.

It doesn't mean Erik has to be happy about it, though.

But he doesn't say anything to Charles. There's something about watching the way he takes care of the bunny, a mere pet project for his class that's being passed around among his classmates, gentle and calm and determined – there's just something there that makes something in Erik go soft and relaxed, like he can see Charles's future and _know_ that he was meant to do something like this, be a leader, be a teacher, be the caretaker who gives far more than he asks.

So, for now, he tolerates running after a furball, if only to hold it over Charles's head and tease him about not being able to hold a squirming bunny.

Charles usually just sticks his tongue out and pouts.

Charles hasn't said how long this guest will grace them with their presence, but his parents seem perfectly all right with it, and Charles seems addicted to it, so Erik thinks with a sigh that it might be there a while.

And he wonders why _he_ never had this kind of project when he was little.

Then again, he always hated pets. He could barely tolerate the stray cat his mother liked to feed and pet sometimes. And of course, he didn't get along with his foster siblings either. Charles is perhaps the one living thing he _has_ tolerated interrupting his comfortable little circle in his house.

But Charles seems to be the one thing that can pierce almost anything, and Erik's usually too busy being grateful for having the opportunity to have known someone like Charles, who is so bright in so many ways, to think too hard about how easy it was for Charles to slip past Erik's boundaries and become so close and necessary to his heart and life. It's not something he thinks about, those days when Charles sits and stares open-mouthed with awe when Erik practices his gifts or those nights when Charles comes crawling into his bed seeking comfort from nightmares. It's just Charles, and his gift for slipping under boundaries that Erik swears must be his secondary mutation.

Still, it doesn't preclude him from laughing his head off when Charles tries – and fails – for the fifth time to pet the bunny.

"It's not funny!" Charles pouts.

Erik snorts and settles back against the couch, flicking the cage shut with a gesture and welding it shut so that Charles isn't tempted to try again, say, at night. (Which has happened once, and resulted in a chase around the garden Erik isn't up to repeating at midnight.)

Charles crawls up on the couch next to him, still pouting, and dodges his attempt to ruffle his hair in comfort.

That makes Erik frown. Charles is naturally tactile, due to his nature as a telepath and the years of his treatment his abusive, neglectful family. He's been glued to Erik's side since he finally opened up to him, and he almost never refuses to let Erik ruffle his hair or hold his hand or hug him. That he does so now means an epic pouting fit of the likes Erik's never seen before.

Of course, Charles never really has thrown a temper tantrum before.

Erik looks at him – arms crossed, brow creased, staring determinedly at the television which isn't even _on_. Yep. Temper tantrum.

"I am _not_ having a temper tantrum," Charles declares.

Erik raises an eyebrow.

"I'm _not_!"

Erik raises his hands in surrender and looks away, struggling to contain his laughter as Charles sinks further into the couch, his pout taking over his face. But there is nothing in the air or in Erik's mind, and he knows that the temper tantrum will blow over eventually, otherwise it would already be bleeding into the air through his telepathy, like it does when Charles is scared or frustrated.

"Erik?"

He turns back to Charles, who is staring at him with an air of hopelessness.

"Yes?"

"Am I . . ." Charles swallows, seemingly uneasy, which is a surprise – not that Charles is showing him this uneasiness, for Charles trusts him very much, but that it's all over a _bunny_. "How come it doesn't like me?"

Something – _something_ – rises up in Erik's chest, something that's ugly and indefinable. He's not sure how to describe it, other than to the urge to spit out something along the lines of, "Because it's a dumb creature and can't understand you." Of course, that's not exactly proper to say, so Erik contents himself with saying, "Animals aren't the same as people. Haven't you noticed your telepathy doesn't work on it? But that doesn't mean it's your fault, _maus_. Animals can be unreasonable sometimes."

Charles gives him a narrow-eyed look. "I know. I already tried. But all I sense is just . . . gibberish."

"You tried . . . to telepathically influence . . . a bunny."

"Be quiet, Erik," Charles whines, and then he clambers over to bury his face in Erik's side, embarrassment rising from him in waves.

Erik automatically soothes him, holding him close, but the more distant part of his mind is plotting something that is along the lines of threatening that damn bunny until it's so scared that it lets Charles pet him. Dimly, though, he wants to just leave Charles to it, to keep running after the bunny and realize it won't do anything for him and that it's not worth the attention and –

And Erik recognize the ugly feeling with a jolt that makes him go so still Charles notices.

"Erik?"

"It's nothing," he says automatically.

But sunshine is creeping into his mind, and although he attempts to shield it behind mirrored walls, the way Charles taught him once, Charles starts laughing and he knows the game is up.

"Are you _jealous_?"

And then it was Erik's turn to look away, embarrassed at the realization that he was jealous over Charles showering so much attention on a stupid furball and even _more_ embarrassed that Charles had noticed. Not that he had had much of a chance to hide it anyways – Charles's telepathy is strong and growing and growing with every year.

"Shut up, Charles," he grouses.

Charles laughs at him, and Erik puts up with it as best he can, half-grateful that it's dragged Charles from his misery and half-embarrassed because his mother takes one look at them and immediately comprehends.

"Leave me alone," he grumbles after dinner, and he stomps up the stairs to the laughter of Charles and his mother.

That doesn't mean that he doesn't notice the way Charles droops, eyes sad and body curled tight, as he tucks the boy into the bed, and he knows it means that Charles has once again failed to successfully hold the bunny. And it's ridiculous, he knows, but before he can stop himself, the anger is rising and he finds himself stomping back down the stairs and through the room until he's right before the bunny cage.

"Listen, you idiotic creature," he tells it – or rather, its behind, because it's probably sleeping. The bunny sniffs. And ignores him.

"You – " Erik kicks his foot against the cage, rattling it a little, and the bunny turns and stares at him with wide eyes. "Stop being an annoying furball and _let Charles hold you_, damn it! It's not going to hurt you. Just let him. Or else . . ."

Then he goes back upstairs, and puts the whole incident out of his head, because frankly, the whole thing is too embarrassing for him to seriously consider.

The next night, the last night, Charles tells him, that the bunny will be here, Charles reaches into the cage – and miraculously, the thing stays still and quiet, lets Charles hold it and pet it with wide-eyed delight, and Erik doesn't sits back and glares at it and wonders why it didn't let Charles do that in the beginning.

And he definitely doesn't grin when Charles nestles against his side for the movie, or when he whispers, _Thank you_, into Erik's mind as he tucks Charles in.

Still, when Charles jokingly pleads for his parents to adopt a bunny to be their pet for real, Erik snarls, "No!" instinctively, and deals with their laughter with gritted teeth, because he would honestly rather deal with a Charles who laughs at him for being jealous of a bunny that a pouting Charles who wants to but can't hold the bunny because the stupid thing is too moronic to know what a gift it's getting with Charles's attention.

He's rewarded later, when Charles crawls into his bed that night and says, _I don't really want a pet, actually. It wasn't that exciting._

"Good," Erik grunts, and that's the end of the matter, which is, as far as Erik and his ego are concerned, the best thing possible.

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><p>AN: Hmm . . . This came out more crackish than I really intended it to be. . . Oh well. Hope it sounds okay anyways.

Coming up next = Charles comforts a sick Erik! (or something along those lines) And I have forgotten who requested it, so if it's yours, please let me know so I can say that!


	13. Chapter 12

Day 2 of my Finale Finale! Charles's firsts = Erik is sick. So Charles gets to play babysitter for once. I have no idea who requested it, but to whoever it was – this chapter is dedicated to you.

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><p>To people I can't PM:<p>

To Guest #1: Thanks for the review! And the good luck, I definitely needed it.

To Guest #2: Well, now you can see how Charles deals with a sick!Erik.

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Twelve<em>**

~ _Erik Lehnsherr_ ~  
>The first thing Erik notices when he wakes up is that is room is a complete and total mess, like some sort of major natural disaster of epic proportions had hit it – scratch that, he thinks, looking at the way his dresser's on the ground and his desk is upside down and his closet doors are swinging sadly off the rail, possibly several types of natural disasters. Right after one another. At that moment, his chair squeaks alarmingly before collapsing into sad little pieces, and Erik winces. Perhaps a cousin of that strange summer that had landed a tornado, an earthquake, and a winter storm in fall in the same region.<p>

No, scratch _that_, the _first_ thing, the very first thing, Erik notices when he wakes is that he's coughing so hard he swears his lungs are going to fall out.

Erik groans and flops down in the bed, smothering himself with a pillow. Heck, he's even surprised that his bed survived, as there is metal in it to. And he hates it, absolutely _hates_ it, when he gets sick.

He hears a tentative knock on his door, and he bolts upright to yell, "Wait!"

Just in time for Charles to stub his toe on the fallen dresser, yelp, and fall back on his butt, his face full of such sheer _surprise_ that Erik wants to laugh his head off – except, of course, between his coughing and his headaches, that probably would be the worst idea ever. Not to mention that there is _iron_ in Charles's blood, and although he's strong enough to sense it and guesses he's possibly strong enough to tamper with it, he doesn't want to find out the hard way.

_Erik?_ Charles asks tentatively. _What . . . happened?_

"I – "

But the words never make it out, because his throat decides he's given him a long enough reprieve and send him doubling over in another coughing fit. So, instead, he says, _Get back, Charles!_

_What? Why?_ Charles is all petulance and concern – at first.

Then the window frame bends and screeches, and the window itself shatters completely, sending shards everywhere, and Erik retains just enough frame of mind to gesture violently at the door and slam it shut, a solid barrier between Charles and the shards.

_That would be why_, Erik says, as the coughing spell eases.

Charles is quiet for a moment, but Erik can sense his restlessness. Charles always has had a caring nature, and when he sees someone hurt or in trouble, he always want to help. Even if, sometimes, he just can't. And in this case, he really can't. When Erik's sick like this – which has only happened once or twice since he manifested – he's a danger to everyone and everything around him. He definitely can't go the hospital, for one thing; the machines around him wouldn't be able to handle the onslaught of the devastation he can wreak, and there's only so much equipment that can be substituted with plastic. The only thing he can do is wait – sit it out and wait for the cough to subside.

Erik knows Charles can probably read all this in his mind. In fact, he's probably read in Erik's parents' minds. But Charles is as stubborn as they come, because the next thing Erik knows, Charles has shoved the door open and is crawling over the dresser before he jumps on the bed, blinking innocently at Erik.

"Charles," Erik scolds.

Unfortunately, at that moment, Erik's mother pushes her way through, sighing as she catches sight of the destruction, and Erik winces. It won't be easy, replacing these things.

"I'll fix it later?" he offers.

His mother merely sighs. "We'll deal with it later, _schatz_," she says, but her voice is warm and full of concern as she turns to him, so he knows that right now she's more focused on finding out what's wrong with him and fixing him than she is about how much money will be needed to repair the damage wrought by it. "How are you feeling?"

Erik considers it for a moment. He actually hasn't had the time yet. "Headache. I can't smell anything. And I'm actually pretty cold."

A hand nudges his own, and he looks down to see Charles curling gentle fingers around his wrist. Then confused blue eyes are staring up at him. "But you're burning up," Charles protests. "How can you possibly be cold?"

Erik's mother clucks her tongue in sympathy, leaning over to feel Erik's forehead and sighing. "It sounds like a common cold, _schatz_," she murmurs sympathetically. "Not much to do but wait it out, I'm afraid. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I – "

A cough builds its way in Erik's throat; he claps both hands over his mouth and tries to breathe deeply, and so ends up wheezing pathetically, which still causes some of the magnets pinned to his dry erase board calendar to go shooting towards him. Erik's mother dodges them with the ease of nearly eighteen years of dealing with it when Erik's abilities turn him into a supermagnet and everything metal or magnetic goes hurtling towards him. Charles isn't so lucky; Erik hears a small "Oof!" and then Charles clambers around him, pouting and huddling between him and the wall, rubbing at his back with one of the magnets presumably hit him.

"You're a right danger to society."

Erik snorts, and then regrets it when his head throbs. _You're one to talk, _maus_. Remember the first time you caught the cold going around your school?_

"Let's not talk about that," Charles says hastily.

It's well that they don't, actually. Charles's fever had been high, way too high, and he had been sweating and tossing and whimpering. It had made Erik frustrated and angry, unable to do anything except offer water and stroke Charles's hair – when he was in the right frame of mind to do so, of course. Charles's telepathy had been even more out of control than Erik's powers are now, enough that he tended to accidentally project his symptoms (Erik had spent an hour sending his breakfast and lunch down the toilet before he realized it wasn't food poisoning and was just a queasy Charles) or project his desire for things (Erik twice caught himself nearly giving Charles M&Ms, which, considering Charles's inability to keep anything but soup and water and sometimes yogurt down, was a very bad idea). It had been a horrifyingly awkward three days before Charles recovered enough to rein his telepathy back in – during which time Erik's parents had fended off the DMFC a bunch of times when they had come trying to see Charles (and determine if he needed to be quarantined in a telepathic-nullifying room) – and Erik was rather relieved when it was over.

Erik's mother rolls her eyes and ignores them. She's grown used to the fact that Charles likes speaking telepathically to Erik, and that Erik likes responding the same fashion. In fact, Erik's seen her more than once smiling fondly at them as they squabble with their minds, Erik poking Charles with pens and Charles poking right back mentally.

"I'll start making some chicken soup, all right? I'll call you down when it's done."

So saying, she marches from the battlefield, picking her way carefully around the valiantly felled bodies of Erik's room with all the grace and assuredness of a tried and true commander.

Erik just groans and flops back down on the bed, moody and ill.

_Why is she making chicken soup?_

"Old wives' tale. Supposedly helps with immunity and stuff. And colds."

There's silence for a moment, and then Erik opens his eyes to find Charles watching him with a strange expression. It's not wistful, really; more along the lines of a bit confused, like he's just been told that he's not actually a telepath or that he's just won a bazillion dollars in a lottery contest.

"What's wrong?" he asks gently.

"Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that?"

"Charles."

Charles wraps his arms around himself, looks at the wall, and then takes a deep breath. "It's just . . . strange."

"Why?"

"You being sick."

"Why?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't know. I'm just used to you being . . ." He gestures, for once seeming unable to articulate whatever he's saying. Which is strange in and of itself; Charles never ever lacks for words.

"Everyone can get sick, _maus_," Erik says cautiously, gently, unsure of whether he's guessing what Charles wants to say. "I'm not immune because I'm a mutant."

"I know. I just . . ." _I'm used to the idea of you being invincible._

It's kind of flattering, once Erik thinks about it.

In an awkward way.

But Erik has long since grown used to awkward since he gained Charles. And he understands where it's coming from; Erik has spent a lot of time and energy becoming the safe haven for Charles, his anchor in a confusing sea of getting used to a world that his stepfather doesn't control every second of, his harbor where Charles comes to rest and confide and relax, his shield between unpleasant grown-up things Charles isn't ready for. Charles has grown used to the idea of idolizing him.

For this, he makes Charles look him dead in the eye. "I'm not perfect, _maus_," he says, slowly and clearly and utterly serious. "I'm not invincible. I'm just trying to be family."

Charles nods, blue eyes locked on his. _I know. Now._

Erik pulls him in for a rough hug, ruffling his hair. "I still love you, you know." And he hopes Charles gets his unspoken message: _Don't try to be perfect for me. Because I love you anyways. I always will._

_I know_, Charles whispers in his mind, and he hugs the boy all the tighter, trying to pour every ounce of that love into the desert that encompasses all the years before they met, all the years where his stepfather and stepbrother beat him and hurt him and neglected him, this glorious, adorable telepath that Erik never had any chance at resisting before he fell under his spell the same way Erik's mother and father had.

Erik's mother calls up that the chicken soup is done, so Charles releases him, scoots off the bed, and goes to retrieve it. When he returns, Erik's had two more coughing fits and is slowly recovering from the third, hiccupping.

Charles balances the tray on the bed. _Can I try something?_

"Feel free," Erik says hoarsely.

Charles sits in front of him with a serious expression on his face, and then he closes his eyes just as Erik feels the warm sunshine touch of Charles's telepathy. Then something happens – something unlocks, or relaxes, or fades away, but either way, Erik feels something unclench in his chest, and he suddenly doesn't have the burning desire to cough up a lung anymore.

"What – What did you do to me?" he asks, astounded.

Charles bites at his lip. "I tried to tell your brain to calm down. I think it worked."

"Well, whatever you did. . ." Erik takes a deep breath, delighting in the ability to breathe without hacking away and wreaking more havoc on his room. "Definitely thank you," he decides, and grabs Charles to ruffle his hair.

Charles eyes him strangely, wriggling away. _You get really weird when you're sick._

"You just noticed?"

The boy shrugs. _I've never seen you sick before, actually. It's . . . a little entertaining._ He cuddles close to Erik, who sighs and puts an arm around him before he reaches for the soup and starts to eat. Charles stays at his side, radiating contentedness as he curiously rummages through Erik's other memories of being sick. _Do things really do . . . that all the time?_

"Do what?"

_Fly at you when you cough?_

"No, sometimes they go shooting down the street. Especially when I sneeze."

Charles's eyes light up. _I want to see that!_

Erik pokes him, causing Charles to squeal and wriggle away from him, arms clasped firmly along his ticklish sides protectively. "I am _not_ some sort of circus act, _maus_," he says crossly. "So if it happens, it'll be because it does and not on – "

Of course, that's when his body betrays him.

There's silence in the aftermath, for a moment. Perhaps Charles is actually feeling pity for the picture frame Erik's just sent across the room, out the door, down the corridor, and, if the sounds are to be believed, tumbling down the stairs as well.

"That was _amazing_!" Charles cheers. "Do it again!"

"No."

"Erik!"

"_No_."

"But it was _cool_."

"Charles . . ."

"Please?"

"No!"

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><p>AN: Hmm. Less fluttery!comfort!Charles than I started out with. Oh well. . . Oh yeah – I am _not_ a doctor, so take my telepathic cure from Charles with a grain of salt, I made it up off the top of my head.

Coming up next! Charles meets another telepath for the first time. Three guesses who.


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